His Equal
by LadyKitKat
Summary: Betrayed and left to die, Hermione turns to the one person who she thought she'd have no ally in and discovers some startling new realities that will shake her from everything she once knew. Can she stop the darkness from taking her completely? Rated M, mature, warnings inside. Voldemort x Hermione.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I tried posting a fanfiction earlier, wrote two chapters into it, and decided it was too OOC for me and deviated too much from anything related to the characters, so I deleted it. Hopefully this one will be a bit better for me. This is a Voldemort/Hermione fanfiction, centered mostly around the magical aspect.**

 **Warnings: Mature, violence, bigotry, possible gore, and triggering scenes.**

 **Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns and profits from all things Harry Potter. I just play in her sandbox.**

She was slowly walking up the stone pathway, fog lapping in, around and about her ankles like small cats wanting petting. It should be dark, she thought to herself warily, pausing to look around the vast landscape, anything but what lay ahead of her. It should be dark, with werewolves and snakes and other terrifying creatures.

Surrounding the meticulously cared for pathway were rolling hills of beautiful green grass, so soft looking that she could imagine herself in another time and day sleeping under the warm sun. There was an easily distinguished from the grasslands to the forest, where she had first portkey'd in before walking the rest of the way. The stone pathway was outlined in simple round white stones, flanked by periodical bushels of blue roses: the first indication that she was where she had intended to be. Another violent tremor shivered through her body, teeth grinding in order to bear the pain, and she slowly moved on. She had wasted enough time, and time was something she wouldn't have if she didn't hurry.

Finally reaching the top of the hill, she could understand exactly where all the so-called pride had originated from. The Manor on the hill was surrounded by protective stone walls with carved murals depicting magical significance, all elegantly designed to establish that whomever lived there, lived lavishly. Next to the tall iron-fenced gate, neatly placed in the center, was the family crest she'd been looking for. She hazard a guess that it was made out of platinum, letting out a slight gasp as the newest tremor, stronger than the ones before it, rocked through her body. She wiped her hand across her mouth, tasting blood from where she accidentally bit her lip, and moved forward.

She could feel the magic in the gate, the magical power feeling weak when she touched it. It would be so simple just to destroy the gate, but by doing so would cause alarm and that was exactly what she wanted to avoid. Placing a palm on the center of the gate, her other arm wrapped around her middle in an instinctive manner to try and keep herself together, and by concentrating quickly pulsed her magic through the gate and disabling the selective system that would otherwise deny her access. The palpable relief she felt from releasing some of the magic, even a small amount, gave her the energy to move on. The next tremor wasn't as bad as the one prior, but in her exhausted mind, it was agony.

Finally getting a good look at the Manor, she was impressed. Tall and reeking of power, it had to have been three to four stories tall, and it was so wide she had to crane her neck both ways to see the end. The Gothic theme resonated strongly here, she absentmindedly agreed that it suited them, though the white color of the manor was certainly shocking. The door was a mere ten meters away, black and flanked by black marble statues of serpents, of which in front the the statues had alternate stone paths that she could only assume deviated to outer buildings that were behind the Manor.

Black marble columns lined the pathway, with an overhanging vines weaving above to make a crisscross patterned design, peppered with black and white roses, and she had to lean against one of them the moment another tremor took her: a nearby plant pot shattered, and she grimaced. She took another deep breathe before stumbling against the door and pushing herself through.

She doubled over, her hands bracing themselves on her knees as she felt the gentle breeze of cooling charms that were built into the wards and walls of the home. The pain in her core was excruciating and she could feel the stretching and tearing that she wasn't very sure she could control or hold back much longer. It made it that much easier to do what she was about to do.

"...I do say, the Dark Lord is not pleased that he has to re-do the wards on the gate, Rosier was the last one to check them and he assured him that they were strong."

Her ears perked slightly. Lucius Malfoy, the voice was unmistakable: snobby, precise, and smooth. From the sounds of the echoing footsteps on the marble flooring, he wasn't alone.

"Father, I was with him." Draco Malfoy's voice echoed out in the hallway coming from her right. "The wards were fine. As if the Dark Lord had just put them on." The voices were getting closer, and she knew that, at this moment, it was do or die. Luckily it was the Malfoys, who would question first and curse later, and not Bellatrix. They were almost upon her.

"Well, the Dark Lord says the wards are gone on the gate and we must..." Lucius Malfoy had stopped abruptly, and she hadn't needed to look up to know that he was in the room with her. She didn't have the energy to look up. The sleek dragon-scaled boots, the hem of a robe that was perhaps the finest quality she'd ever laid eyes upon, and the sharp ease of magical power that had floated into the room with him. The magic was as sharp as his eyes were surely upon her form.

"What...do we have here?" She didn't bother answering.

"Granger?" The shock in the youngest Malfoy would have made her chuckle under different circumstances. A violent tremor took her off guard and a strong hand was suddenly gripping her wrist tightly. She began wondering when exactly she had started clawing at her arm, but looked up regardless at the cool gray eyes of the head of the Malfoy family. Long, pale blonde hair loose did not hide the sharp looks within the patriarchs gaze. He was touching her, but with gloves. She idly wondered if he would burn them later.

"What are you doing in my Manor, Miss Granger?"

She found it odd that he was so calm about this. She ignored Draco's astondishing look at his father, no doubt he was wondering why he hadn't killed her already. She was banking on this. The elder Malfoy was not stupid. She had a purpose here tonight. She swallowed, her throat scratching and sore.

"I seek your Master, Mr. Malfoy."

Whatever answer he was expecting, it was not that. Eyes widening, he pulled out his wand and flourished it silently. She could feel the magic pour over her, no doubt looking for a wand or weapon, or otherwise device that would transport here away from here. Her body shook involuntarily once more, and she felt a little more blood run down from her lips. Whatever he saw or whatever the magic told him seemed to satisfy him, and so he turned with a small gesture.

"Draco, walk behind her and ensure she keeps up. If it is the Dark Lord she wants to see, it is not our place to decide whether she can." He added, sensing a confused Draco. She saw him nod, and Lucius sheathed his wand into the cane and began walking down the hall he and his son had came from. Hermione braced herself and began slowly trailing behind, feeling the questioning gray eyes on her back.

The hallways were dreary, at least in Hermione's opinion. Lined with various portraits looking curiously, and in some ways disgustedly, at her along with various ornaments throughout the ages sealed along the walls. There were many doors, and at another time and place she would've killed to know which one contained the famous Malfoy library, but there were other things preoccupying her mind.

Like surviving the night. She pushed down the inner rage she felt at the situation and followed the tall patriarch towards an enormous set of double black doors. Her insides throbbed painfully; it wouldn't be much longer now and if she waited too long, it would be too late.

He looked back behind himself, his eyes looking questioning on her small, pitiful form before opening both doors.

The room would be close to a ballroom, Hermione hazard a guess in her mind. Tall glass windows flanked the walls, on her left was what looked to be a massive garden outside. The room stretched back all the way up to an elevated platform where there stood a tall, black comfy chair. No, not a chair she corrected herself. A throne. The owner of the throne stood with his back to them, tall and pale in long pitch-black robes. She could nearly taste his power that radiated off of him. He wasn't at all how Harry described him, and instead resembled Ginny's description. Thick black hair was evident.

However, her observation of the man was deviated by the loud gasps and rippling silence that echoed across the ballroom at her entrance. She could almost imagine how this looked: a mudblood, Harry Potter's best friend no less, stumbling into a Death Eater stronghold that housed the most powerful dark wizard in the world. She supposed her torn black robes, disheveled curls, the dirt and blood caked on her face, hands, and legs were certainly a sight to be held as well. This wasn't really a planned event.

"How dare you allow a filthy little Mudblood into the Dark Lord's presence?!"

Hermione nearly smiled. She was surprised Bellatrix Lestrange hadn't said something immediately. Instead, she chose to break the silence with her annoying shriek. Curls not unlike Hermione's, blacker than the night and skin paler than the moon, the dangerous witch looked two seconds away from cursing her off the face of the planet. Hermione held back an outward reaction to the next tremor through her body and stared blankly at the tall figure who had yet to face her.

But Bellatrix was on the move. With four great strides, she met Hermione's position in the middle of the ballroom and, in one great gesture, yanked a handful of Hermione's hair in her grasp.

Whatever Bellatrix was expecting as a response, it definitely hadn't been the simultaneous shattering of every window in the room and the accompanying burn that licked at the dark witch's hand that had been holding her hair.

Within what seemed minutes to Hermione, who had shrieked as soon as Bellatrix touched her, causing another, even worse tremor to ripple through her system, had been just a few seconds. When she looked up, her body still shaking, Bellatrix had her wand out and had resumed her position at the foot of the platform, her eyes now cautious and thinly disguised rage. The surrounding Death Eaters who had been on the edges of the ballroom had already begun repairing the windows, while some that Hermione recognized, like Dolohov and Rosier, had their eyes and wands equally trained on her. Lucius Malfoy strode to the platform and bowed his head.

"My Lord, it is you whom the Mudblood seeks."

The hall quieted down, and the wands trained on Hermione dropped suddenly. The lone figure she had momentarily taken her eyes off had turned without her noticing and had already begun to make his way towards her. His eyes were red. So red she guessed that even in the dark, one would be able to still see his eyes. His robes swayed smoothly around him as he approached her. She trembled, fearing another tremor would make him think she was trying to attack. She felt her core stretch and tear again, and tears leaked down her face.

He stopped, a mere step and a half away from where she stood, and stared.

"Now what," he began quietly, his voice high and cold. "Could possibly bring Potter's Mudblood to the most prestigious Pureblood gathering uninvited?"

Her insides throbbed again, and she knew it was a matter of time before her chance to explain herself came and went. She reached into her robes, holding the parchment that forever changed her life, and extended it towards him weakly. Her eyes never wavered from his. The parchment floated away from her, opening in front of him. His eyes moved quickly, and she wondered if he read it as fast as she had, if he'd come to the same conclusions. She blinked.

And his tall form was centimeters from her. He did.

The tremor was coming, her eyes met his, his widening, before she dropped to the ground. A wand was out, and then she felt it. A hand grabbed her right hand, the tip of his wand tracing a runic pattern she'd never seen before. Through the pain, which was lasting longer than any other tremor before, she idly wondered if he was going to kill her or suspend her in this pain until he'd had everything he wanted to know.

Then came the sheer magical power that flooded her. It wasn't her own, but it was healing her core. The tears and damaging stretching that she'd accumulated over the past week were healing on their own, but miraculously, her core remained the size it had unnaturally stretched to in such a short period of time. It grew further and further, until finally Hermione shoved the lid over the magical core, and his magic sealed the tremors away. The bright blue light from the magic glowed briefly in her hand, and as her heart rate began to come back to normal, when the impending death never came, she noticed her hand still had the active rune.

Voldemort wasn't done. When she looked up, he had grabbed her arm again, his right hand reflecting the same rune he had drawn on hers, and then promptly meshed their hands together. His hands were smooth and surprising warm, she noted, and then she was shocked into being once more. Her magic was in the air with his, and she could almost feel the physical purr it was emitting once it collided and danced with his. Gasps filled the ballroom. She'd almost forgotten about them.

On the floor, Hermione focused on her breathing, trying to accommodate herself to the sensation of how much raw magical power she now possessed. She looked up at the Dark Lord, his eyes unreadable as he gazed at his hand, presumably at the rune, and then he surprised her by throwing his head back and emitting a high, cold laugh.

The room was silent. He turned, his back to her, gesturing to his Death Eaters.

"What you see here, my loyal subjects, is what we fight against every day." He began, slowly circling Hermione's position in the center of the room. "We fight against those who would taint the traditions, the magical ways, and here is a living, breathing reason before you." She could feel the confusion in the air, but her eyes were on Voldemort, who looked nearly exhilarated.

"We have a new friend in the fold, betrayed by the old man who so easily lied to her and denied her the power that is entitled to her." His hand smoothly extended towards her, and she took it gladly, feeling his magic soothe her system once more. "Not only is Ravenclaw's heir among us," additional gasps of shock permeated the room. "But she has suffered at the hands of Albus Dumbledore from birth, where he has been sealing away her magic since she first displayed signs of it, removing her from her rightful Pureblood home into a house of filthy muggles." She could feel all eyes on her now.

"The old fool is dead, and could not renew the bonds. Her magic has broken free and her magical core could not sustain the damage and sudden accommodation of raw magic she should have naturally grown with. It is only I, her magical equal, who could fix it and restore her power." He smirked before turning his red, foreboding eyes onto her small form. "After all, it's not every day that the most powerful wizard in the world has the opportunity to be presented with his magical companion."

There was a pause, a twist of events even she hadn't anticipated, and then she collapsed.

* * *

 **Well, what do you think? Review, love it, favorite it :) I would love your feedback!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wow! The response I had within the first 24 hours of posting has been really flattering. I'm glad you guys like it. Some of you are too clever for your own good and predicted exactly how the next chapters will be going. Once again, for those who didn't catch on, this is a Hermione x Voldemort fanfiction. Don't really care to hear any arguments from anyone who doesn't like the pairing. Don't like it, don't read it!**

 **Disclaimer: This is J.K. Rowling's characters and world. I'm the kid in the sandbox.**

 **Warning: Obviously the events leading to the first chapter result in a deviation of the original storyline as well as some OOC behavior. I will try to adhere to the main characteristics of the characters while not drastically changing them, but you have been warned.**

 _Three days prior..._

The room was overtly stuff, she decided, the heating charms tuned way too high in such a small space, causing her nose to quickly dry up in an uncomfortable way, almost as if she were recovering from a cold. She sat back in the comfy leather chair and absentmindedly rubbed her stomach. She mentally noted to take another potion when she got home, anticipating an oncoming stomach sickness, from what, she hadn't a clue. Best be safe about it.

The door to her right opened and she stood up quickly.

Minister Rufus Scrimgeour, tall, old, and battle-worn, entered the room. He hadn't cared much for the ministry's dress code, opting more towards his old Auror haunts of combat boots and robes that were much more easily maneuverable. Hermione extended her hand and greetings, and sat back down as he sat behind the large mahogany desk littered with papers and artifacts, namely a looking glass.

He cleared his throat. "Miss Granger, I'm sure you're wondering why I've summoned you here today."

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed. It was quite odd for the minister himself to summon someone for a personal meeting, especially since she had assumed it would be Ronald, not her, for the results of his Auror academy application. The circumstances behind this meeting was definitely curious.

"Yes, Minister."

"You are aware that Albus Dumbledore has left a will, as well as Harry Potter, and your name was on both. Any reason as to why?"

Hermione's confusion must have been apparent, because the Minister ceased his interrogation on her person the moment their eyes made contact. Dumbledore...left her something? Hermione's heart ached for the slain headmaster, and Harry, whose body had been found on the ground next to Dumbledore's, broken and eyes unseeing. The Death Eaters had clearly wanted to make sure that the world's last hope was dead beyond belief.

"I mean, I could understand why I would be on Harry's, minister, even though I wasn't aware he even had a will," she began slowly, willing herself not to cry. She'd been the one to find their bodies, and the memory of it and what she knew would come as a result filled her with perpetual dread with each coming day. "But I'm not sure about Headmaster Dumbledore, sir. I wasn't very close with the man."

The Minister nodded slightly, his fingers playing at the tip of his chin and his gaze, thoughtful as he leaned back in his chair. He flicked his wand, and a page opened up from inside the desk to float to their right, so both he and Hermione could see the formal writing. He cleared his throat.

"The last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore is hereby coming to a conclusion for the last items bequeathed as requested." He began, having done this too many times to have to read it. "To a Miss Hermione Jean Granger, I give unto you the diary of Rosemary Selwyn, in the hopes that she finds that it is applicable to her life in extraordinary ways." A black leather-bound book floated towards Hermione, and fell into her hands the moment she touched it. She gently stroked the cover of the notebook, noting how well kept it had been. She then noticed the magical wards surrounding it, and looked up questioningly.

"When Albus passed, all items he wanted bequeathed were automatically warded as the Last Will and Testament became active, to prevent tampering or theft. It will only open to you, Miss Granger." He said solemnly. She nodded and looked back up at the Minister, expecting a dismissal.

"However, Albus also bequeathed you a second item, or a bundle of items, to be more exact." He told her shocked face before turning to the Will once more. "To a Miss Hermione Jean Granger, I give unto you these documents of which concern you and yours rightfully and express the sincere hope that she may forgive me for what is to come." Hermione's attention sharpened at the wording before noticing the large briefcase that began floating towards her. She grasped the handle tightly, surprised at the light weight it had, before turning back to the Minister.

"Now, onto Mr. Potter's will." He cleared his throat again, shuffling in his chair uncomfortably: he didn't like reading wills of people killed too young. "The last Will and Testament of Harry James Potter is hereby coming to a conclusion for the last items bequeathed as requested. To a Miss Hermione Jean Granger," he paused, hearing Hermione's choked back sob, handing her a tissue before continuing onward. "I give unto you my cloak of invisibility in the hopes that you will continue on into passing it to your children. It cannot be used by any other except in your bloodline." Hermione's eyes were wide as the familiar cloak floated towards her and landed softly on her lap.

"So is the completion of the Last Will and Testaments henceforth."

* * *

She was sat in the middle of her parent's house, the living cold and quiet, absent of any life except for hers and Crookshanks. She'd sent off her parents two months ago, right after school had ended, and Harry and Dumbledore were well and buried. Irreversible memory charm had done the trick, and they were happily in Australia starting a new life. She had lined up everything the former Headmaster and Harry had given her, unsure of where to start, only knowing that she had to start soon. She rubbed her stomach again, worried that the potion was expired and that she needed to brew her own.

She finally pulled at the leather-bound book given to her by Dumbledore, curious as to why he would give her such a thing. She hadn't even heard of Rosemary Selwyn, only knowing that she was a Pureblood, given her last name. She opened it, releasing the Will's wards that gave her access, and warded it herself. The book repelled against nearby objects, and Hermione paused before lowering the ward's power. It was only a simple ward, why had it come out so strong? Shaking off her confusion once more, she opened it again to read the inside of the page.

 _May 20th, 1979_

Hermione raised her eyebrows. Her mother would have been 5 months pregnant with her at this time, and this would have been happening near the end of the first Great Dark War. She traced her fingers over Rosemary's signature before pressing on to the first diary entry.

 _Dear Diary,_

 _This pregnancy is exhausting me. I suppose I should be proud, the Healers say it is the sign of a powerful magical child and I am absolutely thrilled, but I can't help but be concerned over the toll it is taking on my body. I've just come back from Hogwarts from visiting Professor Vector over my latest Arithmetic research paper. Alphard use to say that I push myself too much, that Dumbledore advised him that powerful magical children, if not given enough rest, could kill me._

 _Alphard isn't here anymore, and I don't have to listen to Dumbledore's made up medical prowess about magical children._

 _I don't trust him. He looked at me over his spectacles like he doesn't trust me; like I'm going to try and curse any of the children at Hogwarts. It gives me frightening shivers down my spine, like I should be cautious around this man. I don't trust him. He may be a Light Lord, but I've heard his favorite phrase, 'The Greater Good'. I fear for my baby, who may posses powers like his._

 _Powers like the Dark Lords'._

 _I miss my Alphard. He made some questionable decisions in the past, and he chose to align himself with Dumbledore, but he was still pure. Still my Alphard. I feel so vulnerable. Sweet Circe, I can't wait for my little girl to get here! Everything will be better._

 _Yours,_

 _Rosemary Selwyn._

Hermione paused for a second the gather her emotions. Why did Dumbledore give her the diary of a woman who obviously didn't like him? She was clearly a supporter of Voldemorts', so why would he have Hermione read this? Was there a magical child her age that could pose as an additional threat to the Wizarding World alongside Voldemort? Perhaps that was what this was about, she decided, and continued on.

For the next half hour, Hermione had been scanning the diary of a woman she'd never heard of until today. She mostly wrote about droll things, including her secret meetings with an Irma Crabbe and a Walburga Black that made Hermione's nose wrinkle distastefully. Rosemary Selwyn was 23 years old, and a picture attached in a later diary entry showed a beautiful young woman with long curls, a sharp, but kind face, and caramel eyes. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she looked familiar. Her thoughts became distracted by the small throbbing in her core before she continued to read the last entry.

 _August 5th, 1979_

 _Dear Diary,_

 _The pregnancy is almost over._

 _I was right about the baby being a girl. Before, I had just guessed, but part of me is glad that Alphard will not have a son. She will carry my name. The Aurors caught my father in the league with the Dark Lord, and the Dementors got a hold of him before they could give him the farce of a fair trial. I know I cannot say anything at the risk of my child and I. For all the good they are, this 'light' side likes to turn a blind eye to justice._

 _It's why we need the Dark Lord more than ever._

 _Back when rightful wizards with true Pureblood bloodlines ruled this world, where we didn't have to fear muggles and Mudbloods everyday with exposure of magic, and when true justice was when we sent people to Azkaban for attacking magic, not defending it. Our magical bloodlines are dying, my father is gone, a mere shell of what he used to be, my mother, dead, and my little brother, dying._

 _I am the only one left. My baby and I must carry on, we must live._

 _I know why Dumbledore keeps looking at me. My baby's magic has only gotten stronger. He keeps sending Aurors my way to try and catch me at Dark Magic or supporting the Dark Lord. He's going to try and take my baby away from me. I wonder if he'll kill her, in fear that my own Dark background has tainted her powers in the womb and will become a threat to his tyranny. Has he forgotten that I was in Ravenclaw? I know better! He could probably kill my baby in front of a crowd and they'd cheer him on as ending the last of a beloved and powerful bloodline. I won't let it happen, I won't!_

 _Oh Alphard, I wish you were here. I don't think I will survive this birth. Dumbledore won't allow it. He won't allow my Hermione to go free. Maybe not even alive._

 _May Merlin and Circe have mercy,_

 _Rosemary Selwyn._

The book dropped on her lap, her hands limp from shock. Tossing the book aside, Hermione snatched the black briefcase up, releasing the wards quickly and opening it up to see what was inside, her stomach now hurting for a completely different reason. Why did Dumbledore want her forgiveness, and why did he leave her the diary and this paperwork? The paper pile was thick, but the sole paper on the top of it all stopped her short. She'd only seen one of these before, with Ron when he was going to file his Auror application and needed his certificate proving his identity beyond his wand.

A wizarding birth certificate.

The borders were outlined with traces of gold and blue, and Hermione's fingers slowly traced the words as she read aloud the crushing blow that shattered her very being.

"Hermione Rosemary Selwyn."

She sat back, now on the floor, her eyes downcast, her whole body frozen with shock. She placed the birth certificate aside, now desperate for the answers as to why Dumbledore had kept this truth from her all these years. Had Rosemary been right? She shuffled underneath where the certificate had been, pulling out a folded note with her name written in Dumbledore's familiar handwriting she'd seen on missives for Harry.

 _Miss Granger,_

 _As I have watched you throughout the years, I understand that you may be hurt and confused about what you have just learned. If everything went right, you now know that the muggle Grangers are not your real parents. Your parents' names were Rosemary Athena Selwyn and Alphard Pollux Black. Yes, Sirius' Uncle was your father, and your birth remained unknown to the Blacks because they disowned him while he was still married to your mother for aiding in Sirius' runaway._

 _He died after finding out Rosemary was pregnant with you, and never told anyone. Your mother died in childbirth with you._

 _You must understand Miss Granger, I did what I had to do. I could sense when your mother first visited Hogwarts pregnant with you that you would be too powerful, too dangerous in the hands of a woman I suspected to be a supporter of Voldemorts. I had hoped Alphard had some sort of influence on her, but it seems my hopes had been in vain, and I had to intervene. After she passed, I ensured that the Healers thought you had passed too, and whisked you away to the Grangers, two loving Muggles who had so desperately wanted a child. They loved you and raised you with good morals._

 _I had to seal your magic away Miss Granger, please, understand._

 _When you began attending Hogwarts, every year I was reassured that what I had done had been the right thing to do. In your first year, it was I who told the Sorting Hat to place you in Gryffindor, in the hopes that loyalty and bravery would influence your better half. But yet by the time you had gotten into your 3rd year, you had already displayed the cunning traits of your father, who could never let go of his Slytherin habits, and the intelligence and power of your mother, whose Selwyn side has always buffered between Slytherin and Ravenclaw._

 _You broke rules because it suited your purposes, and in your third year, you physically assaulted Mr. Malfoy because you believed you had the right to. Imagine if I had let your power adjust naturally in your body? Every year I had to reseal it away, hoping for the right time that you'd be ready to accept your destiny as a powerful Light witch._

 _But then your 5th year came, and at the end of everything, I knew you'd never be ready._

 _Cursing a parchment to physically mutilate anyone who revealed your secrets, encouraging open violence towards a staff member, regardless of her beliefs, cursing several men at the Ministry in an effort to not get caught in the Department of Mysteries, and luring Umbrage to something akin to torture at the hands of centaurs while celebrating her misery were clear indications that you are not able to handle the responsibility of power, regardless of your massive intellect and high morals._

 _Miss Granger, I'm asking you now to understand my reasoning by utilizing your impressive intellect for this very moment. I did this for the greater good. I did this to ensure we did not have another Dark Lord. Even as I write this, I feel no regret for what I have done, only hoping that the influence your adoptive parents had on you will make you understand the choices that had to be made for the sake of everyone you have encountered._

 _Renew the bonds that have been placed on your magic._

 _The closer it gets to your 21st birthday, the weaker they will get. You can probably feel your magical core giving you uncomfortable feelings: it is stretching slowly to accommodate the flow of extra magic I've sealed away. But it will get worse, and it will kill you. I renewed the bonds always on your birthday, and sent you away with no memory of it happening, but now that I am no longer living, I cannot do it anymore. Seal away your magic, keep it at the average level it is now; save yourself from falling into the darkness. I wish you the best, Miss Granger, and hope that your intelligence hasn't failed you in this crucial moment._

 _Best Wishes,_

 _Albus Dumbledore_

Hermione's hands clenched the paper, angry tears running down her cheeks in frustration. He hadn't trusted her at all? She was Harry's best friend, she had helped him in their first year with the logic puzzle, helped him discover it was a Basilisk in the school, time traveled to save his Godfather, helped him survive in both the tournament and in the Department of Mysteries. She'd been there for him when everyone accused him of lying about Voldemort being back, and helped him no matter what. Had Dumbledore forgotten that? Why had he only seen the darkness in her?

She pushed aside the papers and began piecing together the remaining papers from the briefcase. Inside were different reports, all about her. Dumbledore had been keeping tabs on her magic for quite some time, and with every disenchanting word, every note of concern, Hermione's fondness for the Headmaster blackened into hurt and bled betrayal. Who else had known about this?

It confirmed one thing for Hermione, however. The Order was no longer a safe option for her.

She noticed in the very back of the briefcase was a thin, but strong folded fabric piece, and as she pulled it out, it expanded until it became a tapestry. She flicked her wand to spread it out, her eyes searching for what exactly she was supposed to be seeing. She traced her fingers to her portrait at the very bottom, tied by a single thread to her newly discovered mother and father. Seeing as her new surname was now Selwyn, her finger began tracing upwards to her mother's line. It didn't surprise her that all the surnames before her mother's were of Purebloods.

Her grandmother was a Potter. She smiled at that. Her two more generations up the line revealed a Malfoy, and two generations above her had Hermione's jaw dropping. Eyes filled with disbelief, the ominous throbbing of her magical core stepping it up a slight, but noticeable, notch.

Since when had Helena Ravenclaw had a child with Aldrich Selwyn?

 **Read, Review, Like, Favorite, Alert :) I hope you liked the interesting turn of events. I understand there may be indications of Dumbledore bashing, but really, doing things for the greater good was his MO. Try to re-read his letter in a more imploring light than a condescending one! Thanks~**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Man, I can't believe how much I'm writing. I've never had this much of an inspiration for one plot bunny before, but it keeps coming and I keep wanting to write and write for my kind reviewers and followers. I understand the last chapter was quite the bombshell, and a lot of information was thrown at you guys in such a short period of time so early in the fiction, but let me assure you: there is a reason for this. There is more to the story, and as it continues, you may realize that you didn't get as much as you thought.**

 **Warning: Mature, slight OOC, and many baby steps towards the plot are occurring here. Hermione x Voldemort, I do not need to say more.**

 **Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling has lorded the HP Series over me for too long, but alas, I cope by writing fanfiction.**

 _The day before..._

Sweat poured down her face as she thrust the blankets from her body. The throbbing in her center had progressed in the night, waking her mid-sleep where she had been unable to fall back and forget the horror that was slowly unraveling everything she knew in her life. She knew now that no potion would make this ache go away, but a mild numbing potion later and she could lower it down to a dull roar. September 19th was two days away, and her options were limited at best.

She'd poured over the tapestry, using the Black Family books that she now had access to due to Harry's permission extending beyond his death to use the Black Family library. If this note were true, she knew that any of the curses on the books would neither kill nor maim her. Her eyes focused on the branches that had her as the end result. Surnames familiar and not were flashing in front of her, and as she consulted Cassiopeia Black's famed _The Pure Masters_ , which was a detailed archive of every known Pureblood family and their histories, the reality of just how rich of a family she had was coming to her.

The Selwyn family was gone. Gabriel Selwyn, her great-grandfather, had only had one child, and that son, Silas Selwyn, had only had Rosemary to his name before dying of dragon pox. She avidly avoided gazing at the Black family tree, the dawning horror of realization coming to her this morning on remembering who exactly the relatives of Alphard Black were, and that they were now hers. The small number of children the Selwyn family had made it easier for her trace her roots back. It was evident there was power that was passed down from Helena Ravenclaw. A lack of many children usually indicated that they were powerful and noting the corresponding birth dates of children in comparison to their mother's death dates, Hermione was sad to see that many of them matched along the line.

" _I shouldn't have that problem, all that power has been passed down to me."_ Well, that was true until the throbbing pain reminded her of her immediate mortality issues. There was no way that she could uphold Dumbledore's wishes. Magic was a part of her; to seal it away would deny her the ability to further expand her magical capabilities and research. But if she wasn't going to seal it away again, then she needed to find a way to combat the extensive damage and danger to her magical core and prevent it from obliterating her completely. Had Dumbledore not tampered with her magic, the magic would have naturally stretched her core over time, and there would have been no pain. Instead, she was stunted.

She fumed for half an hour over that before moving on. Anger wouldn't help this.

Helena Ravenclaw and Aldrich Selwyn had a love child together. It would explain why the Baron stabbed her, she thought warily. Love that kills. Aldrich Selwyn had a son with Ravenclaw, know famously in Cassiopeia's book as a famous solo dragon keeper, which required a lot of magic to handle dragons- that's why it took many dragon keepers to handle even one dragon. Aldwin Selwyn went on to marry Artemis Gaunt, who famous for combining potion-making and arithmancy to make about three quarters of the Ministry's Class E Forbidden Potions. Together they had three children, and Hermione tentatively added the Gaunt family to her list of natural powerful magic producers.

Of the eldest of their three children, Bartholomew Selwyn, who was her several great-grandfathers down the line, married Caroline Potter. Their one child had Hermione sadly cross the Potter family off of the capable family's list. As powerful as Harry had been, Hermione had to force herself to consider, logically, that there can be anomalies. By the time she had gone through the entire tree, Hermione only had three families to refer to in terms of having a history of handling powerful magical power.

She angrily crossed off the Malfoys. Even if they would accept her with open arms now that she was 'one of them', there was too much bad blood. How could she champion for the ingenuity of muggleborns with herself as the prime example _if she wasn't even really muggleborn?_ The smirk on Draco Malfoy's face would be unbearable, and with the pain she was currently going through, she knew she'd curse him first before anything else, thus rendering her pool of candidates that were in her direct bloodline down to two families: the Blacks and the Gaunts.

Sirius was dead. The one Black who she would've gladly gone to for help had died in the veil, by his own cousin nonetheless. Andromeda Tonks, nee Black, was currently in hiding, and the torture she suffered at the hands of her family before running away had turned her memory into an occasional slippery slope. Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black, was an option, but she was still a part of the Malfoy family, and Hermione didn't want to see Lucius Malfoy's snarky face either. Perhaps she was being biased, due to not having encountered the man that much, but the son had to have gotten it from somewhere. The pool of dread expanded.

Bellatrix Black would never, ever be an option.

Azkaban probably did too much damage to her anyway for her to have been of any use. So she looked towards the Gaunt family. Their records were scant, at best. She gripped her hair roughly; time was running out, and she didn't have the time to chase around a family that may not even be around anymore. She opened the book once more to see what Cassiopeia had to say about them. Sneering at the haughty picture of her on the rear of the book, Hermione flipped through the pages.

 _Perhaps one of the more elusive, yet powerful families, would have to be the Gaunt. Tobias Gaunt, a stupid and proud man, has essentially ruined the finances and reputation of the once glorious family into something of a pauper. His son, Marvolo, is equally as such, and is quite the drunk. He managed to wed some low-life pureblood girl before killing her after bearing him a son and a daughter. I had some hope in Merope Gaunt, but she's been beaten so many times by that moron that he may have possibly squashed the magic out of her._

 _Prior to Tobias, the Gaunt family had risen to power throughout the history, known for their powerful magical spawns. It is no surprise, as this family contains the direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin himself, and has frequently been the leaders that have ushered glorious eras for the Wizarding World and for Purebloods all over. Most famously, Scorn Gaunt, who challenged and defeated the rampaging giants in the Giant Massacre of 1865, and avenged the slaughter of magical children from the beasts' violence._

 _Regardless of their now deplorable status, should a worthy heir come from the Gaunt family, it should be within every pureblood woman's best interest, unless they are magically powerful, to stay away from him in regarding marriage. Like the Malfoys, this family spawns powerful magical children, and unless wedded to a powerful woman, she most likely will only produce one and then be rendered weak or dead. Slytherin's family will rise again, it's only a matter of time._

Hermione sat back. The Hogwarts founders were, without a doubt, the most powerful witches and wizards after Merlin, Circe, and Morgana. Obviously, their direct bloodlines would contain the most powerful of the community. So the Gaunts were Slytherin's descendants. And she was Rowena Ravenclaw's last descendant, not to mention her direct descendant. It made sense that she'd need another founder's heir to understand the amount of power she would bear. She laid her head back, rubbing her temples once more. Something was prodding her memory and it was important that she remember.

She found herself at Hogwarts a couple hours later, limping up towards the towering castle. The magical flares were getting worse, with even a slight exertion of her magic made her spells and abilities more powerful than she intended. An attempt at apperation had caused her to splinch part of her leg, resulting in her downing her emergency supply of Blood Replenishing potion and a quick healing salve that reduced most of her injuries down to a sore muscle.

She hadn't wanted to come back here. The symbol of everything she loved had been tainted by a meddling man who believed he knew what the greater good was. Harry had died here, lead to his death indirectly by Dumbledore who was trying to keep secrets, and dragged him down too. But answers were here, and her life depended on them.

Helena Ravenclaw would give her answers.

The bridge connecting Ravenclaw toward to the rest of the castle was deserted. It was slightly chilly; Hermione clung close to her thin, now dirty robe. The luminous figure floating before her was looking down on her with pitying eyes.

"Young lady, you look injured," the ethereal beauty crooned. "Let me fetch a professor for you, get you some help." The Grey Lady made to move through the wall, obviously seeking some form of authority that could help the ragged Hermione.

"Wait!" She couldn't keep the desperation out of her voice. "It's you I need!"

The woman stopped and looked over curiously.

"My name is Hermione Granger. Or, well," she stuttered hastily, eyes wide. "My official name is Hermione Rosemary Selwyn." Immediately, the Grey Lady's demeanor changed into one of personal concern, and near motherly earnest.

"You're Rosemary's daughter?"

Hermione nodded.

Helena Ravenclaw stood at ground level in front of the wincing brunette and for a moment, Hermione could see her likeness in her. They were the same height, with curly hair, and solemn eyes that maintained contact for a moment.

"What does Ravenclaw's heir need from me?"

Hermione took a deep breath, and began her story. The lies of Albus Dumbledore. The near constant pain and the endless ripping sensation she had been experiencing for the past 24 hours, as well as her deduction that only another founder's heir could help her mitigate and control her power before it could kill her. She felt her heart lift at the Lady's understanding nods, and for the first time since she discovered her new identify, she had hope.

"There is one who can help you." The Grey Lady said slowly, her face uncertain. Hermione noticed her nervous wringing of her hands, and then, with the same habit she had when she was nervous, the lower lip biting. "But you will not like it. He matches your level in power, and is perhaps the only one who can help you at this point."

Hermione frowned, but nodded. "I don't care how deplorable I may find him. I want to live. I know I can do some good in this world, and I'm not ready to die. If he's a simple ass or is arrogant, I've dealt with people like that before..." she trailed off as Helena shook her head.

"It's not so much simple than that." The ghost swallowed instinctively before telling Hermione exactly who her last hope was.

She took a step back against the stone pillars of the castle and slid to the ground. She looked at her ancestor, her eyes hopeless.

"That can't be true," She started, the tears slowly brewing. "Even if it is true, he wouldn't save me at all. He has no benefit to letting me live, to even get close to him without his followers obliterating me off the face of the world would be next to impossible." It was unthinkable. Unbelievable at best. She stood up and turned away from the sorry look ghost. She was going to die, there was no way to contest it at this point.

Another tremor ripped through her body, the numbing potion having worn off, and she coughed violently. A tear had appeared on her core, she could feel her magic prod and wash over it, only this one was worse than any of the others, and with every slight tremor, she could feel it stretch periodically. She tore off down the hallways onto the grounds, desperate to get away from the tainted castle, the ruined blessing she had beloved, and the hopelessness.

Who could she turn to? Ron hadn't spoken with her in ages. Without Harry to mediate their arguments, his eventual toying with her feelings lead to a full on fight that left them with absolutely no contact with each other. Mrs. Weasley had sided with her son, although remorsefully, but Hermione knew where they stood at this point. Remus was with Tonks and their new son, and there was a chance the wild magic within Hermione could harm the baby or aggravate his werewolf sensitivities.

She was panting, whether from running or the tremors taking her breathe away, she wasn't very sure. She wasn't sure of anything anymore. This wasn't absolute. It wasn't something that a book could merely solve, no theories that she could stipulate, and no potion that could heal this kind of damage to her very core. Only someone of equal magical power could possibly resolve this, and her only hopes was the very man she'd been helping Harry destroy, once upon a time.

She was in the Forbidden forest now. The ominous fog lapped at her face, and the distance howling every once and a while startled her from her task. She could consult another, although their friendliness towards Wizards after the ministry introduced legislation limiting their movements made her wary of how much of a welcome she'd be given. Looking around, she found what she was looking for: a tree trunk with an intricate carving of the stars. She laid an arrow and an ax, one atop the other in a cross, next to the tree, before sitting down on her knees, her butt resting on the heels of her feet.

And then she waited.

It wasn't long. Centaurs had a strong magical tie to the land that they called their own, and had probably known she was in the forest long before she'd even realized where she had been. Lowering her eyes to the ground, she attempted to reign in the wild magic to a more manageable level, as to not seem threatening. The arrow was placed to show her vulnerability, but also demonstrating her emerging power, and the ax was to show them she was at their mercy. By placing it on their marker, she was respecting their rights to their land and their rule.

Soft thumps on the undergrowth stopped near her right, and she waited with abated breathe.

"Hermione Selwyn, it seems you have finally come into your own."

Firenze had appeared before her, his face wizened from his experiences at Hogwarts from the hands of Umbridge. Face dirty, armed with the ax, he handed it back to her before helping her to her feet: a sign of friendship and mercy, she noted.

"It won't last long, Firenze." She said softly, wiping the tears. "I'm going to die."

"Mars does not will death this year."

Hermione looked up at him, but he was preoccupied at the break of the canopy that revealed the clear sky above. She looked up with him, the stars twinkling mockingly back at her. She looked back at the tall centaur.

"What do I do?"

"You already know what to do. The only thing holding you back is yourself."

"But..." she looked imploring at him, willing for him to understand. "It's Voldemort."

Firenze was silent for a moment. The trees swayed around them, the wind whistling with the indication of a storm, one Hermione wasn't sure she would be able to fight against. Finally, he spoke quietly.

"Sometimes, the hardest decisions we make in this life are for the better, no matter how we view the situation." He looked at her. "Anything that happens to us in our lives are neither good nor bad, it is how we perceive it to be.

"You see this situation as the end of your life. But the stars are bright tonight." He said ominously, trotting towards her. "Hermione Selwyn, the only thing holding you back from saving your own life is you. Do not let your perceptions of what you think is good or bad blind you from the possibilities your life can turn into. This world is fluid, the magic that flows through it also flows through you, and as a conduit of so much, you too, must be fluid."

Hermione's shoulders drooped as the silver centaur trotted off. She gasped and collapsed suddenly at the onslaught of tremors that tore through her system. It wouldn't be long now at this point: she had to make a decision, and had to do so now. She closed her eyes. It was either die, or give up everything she believed in. Going to Voldemort would end all that was Hermione Granger, because she would have to accept everything that came with being the last of a line of Purebloods. There was no option, and they would definitely not give it to her. She looked down.

Opening her hand was a small obsidian and sapphire ring; among the many papers within the briefcase had laid this, the signet ring of Ravenclaw. It was beautiful, the platinum raven encircled in tiny, shiny obsidian stones with the raven stark against a sapphire background. She slowly slide it on her ring finger of her right hand before pointing her wand at her tossed-aside shoes, choosing the less damaged of the two. Her magic wanted her connected to the ground, to the earth, to become one with the natural magic of the world, and had ruined her trainers beyond use. She wouldn't need muggle shoes where she was going anyways.

" _Portus._ "

She didn't know how she knew where she was going. She let the magic take her away with one final tug, and then she landed at the bottom of the stone pathway, looking up towards her only hope at staying alive.

 **How'd you like that? I feel like I pile too much information sometimes in chapters, and am learning to try to limit one or two major details within one chapter while saving the others for later. I'll see how this pans out, as I am eager to move onto the present day. Read, review, favorite, follow :) Thanks so much for the kind reviews!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Yes, yessss. Feed me :D I really appreciate and love the reviews, including the reassurances that this story is well written. I'm planning ahead, as I want to try to get as much of this story out as possible before my fall semester starts at college. It's my second to last semester, so busy busy! I've got plot bunnies for the next three chapters or so, so hopefully we'll be at chapter 7 before the end of this week!**

 **Warnings: Slight ooc, bigotry, language, maturity.**

 **Disclaimer: Just keep playing in the sand box.**

* * *

She was reclining comfortably on a porch swing; the park where she'd frequent during the summers to read with the fresh air breezing by her face was clear and quiet. Dressed in her favorite light blue strapless sundress that flowed past her knees, her feet bare so her toes could feel the soft grass, and the newest book over magical theory from the famed Gilchrist Le'Monte nestled in her grasp, Hermione felt like she was in heaven.

It hadn't really occurred to her on how she got there. Why did it matter? Occasionally, she'd hear worried, raised voices, or loud banging, but every time she looked up, the trees just gently waved their branches at her. So she'd shrug it off and continue reading. She knew something was off, however, when she would look back at her book and see that there were no words in it.

"I could always lend you my copy."

She looked up. Standing before her with pale skin, sharp, dangerous red eyes, and thick jet-black hair, was none other than the Lord Voldemort. He seemed more human than Harry had described to her, and she found it near amusing at the juxtaposition of the most feared wizard of all time standing in a muggle park. She tilted her head to the side. "This book isn't due for public read for another two months." She lamented, stroking the spine before setting it on top of the bag that appeared on the ground nearby. Voldemort sat next to her, looking around.

"I know the author personally; he gave me an early release."

She raised her eyebrows. "Gave? Or was forced to?"

"Not everyone I meet gets tortured for me to get what I want." He said smoothly, rocking the swing with gently. The sun was bright in the sky, and Hermione was enjoying the warmth it brought. "Would you believe me if I said I am incredibly charismatic?"

She snorted. "I already knew that."

"How could you know?" One perfectly manicured eyebrow raised at her.

"You have a mass following of the most influential people within the Wizarding World, of which I am forced to put aside my opinions of them to recognize that not all of them are utter morons that can't think for themselves," she admitted, swinging her feet back and forth as the swing rocked from his ministrations. "They had money, power, and material excess. Which means you gave them something they wanted to hear."

He leaned back in the swing, nodding absentmindedly. "I didn't just give them what they wanted to hear, Miss Selwyn. Yes, I know all about that," he added when he noticed her surprised look. "Do you think I would not investigate why Potter's friend decided to wander to what could have been her death? I would not be alive today if I merely took what was given to me on a piece of parchment as truth."

Hermione grinned slightly at the memory.

 _"What should I do?" She was pacing outside of the Forbidden forest, the panic settling in over what she may end up doing. In her hands was her mother's diary, and desperately she flipped to the last page in hopes that there may be some indication, some advice over what to do. One did not simply talk to the most dangerous man in Great Britain, possibly the world._

 _Hermione didn't understand it. Rosemary Selwyn was an avid supporter of the Death Eaters, and by extension, Voldemort himself. She knew Dumbledore knew, and she had guessed from as early as 5 months into her pregnancy with Hermione that the headmaster posed a threat to her life and the life of her child. So if she had known that, had been in contact with people like Walburga Black, then why hadn't she placed any safeguards? She blinked._

 _Her mother may have been a Ravenclaw, but she was friends with a bunch of Slytherins._

 _She flipped to the blank pages after her mother's last entry and paused for a moment, trying to place herself in the shoes of a desperate witch who was trying to protect her daughter. Merely writing in invisible ink or spelling away a hidden entry wouldn't work against Dumbledore: he was too powerful to dupe like that. She was in deep thought before another tremor startled her out of her musings. She flinched; she'd bitten her lip and a tiny drop of blood hit the page. Worried, she was about to take her wand to it before any damage had been done, but the drop had disappeared._

 _A couple of drops later, and the writing began to reveal itself. Of course her mother would use blood magic. Hermione was the only one of her blood left, so no chances for mistakes._

 _September 1_ _st_ _, 1979_

 _My Dearest Hermione,_

 _I'm getting weaker now. I know I cannot protect you from whatever Dumbledore has planned, and with scrutiny on any Purebloods who have Slytherin backgrounds, I cannot seek aid from those who would guide you on the right path. I can only hope that his plans for the greater good involve you still being alive. I want you to know, darling, that Mummy loves you. I have always loved you. Despite what you may be raised to think or do, I hope you don't think less of me regardless._

 _I had Walburga Black pass on a message to the Dark Lord over this situation. Should you be capable to, you need only give him the one word I've enclosed at the bottom of this entry. He will know that you come from me, and the bloodlines and power of which you carry. Whether or not your power now is temporary, the Dark Lord values magical blood, and you will be safe with him._

 _It is with this that I can at least give you a chance to reconcile with what will be robbed from you and from myself. Do great things. Bring power and fortune back to the Selwyn name. Most importantly, stand fast to what you believe is right based off of the facts and the logic. If you're anything like me, you'll understand what that means. I love you, my Hermione._

 _With all my heart,_

 _Rosemary Selwyn_

 _Attached to the bottom of the entry was a hastily scrawled word saying "Nightingale."_

"That's how you knew so much when I showed you that," she realized, looking at him from her peripherals. "That word was associated with my bloodline, my mother, and-"

"Your power, yes." He interrupted, looking at her fully, his face cold and smooth. "Walburga had confided your mother's uncertainty behind the status of your magic. When I failed to register one of great magical power, even after my downfall, I had assumed Dumbledore had killed you. I did not consider that the old man had it in him to do something this dark."

"What he did was considered dark?"

Voldemort gave her an exasperated look, almost petulant. "He bound your magic as if he were your guardian, as if it were an animal needed to be trapped and tranquilized." He explained, his red eyes flashing. "Dark magic is magic used for dark purposes. There is no spell, no potion that is dark unless used for nefarious reasons."

"No good and evil, only power."

"Exactly," he nodded towards her, looking almost impressed. "A stinging hex that is powerful can cause pain likened to a cruciatus curse. A gentle stinging hex can be playful for small children still learning to come into their magic. Anything can be what you make of it."

Hermione looked thoughtful at his diatribe, before sighing. The swing slowly stopped as Voldemort got up from his seat. He turned and twiddled his wand slowly in his hands. "Are you ready to wake up, Miss Selwyn?" He asked. She knew he wasn't really asking her though. She needed to wake up.

"Wake up."

Her face crumpled slightly, and she could hear hushed voices within the room she was in. Her body lay resting on the most comfortable mattress she'd ever laid on in her life. But her body was so stiff, and her magical core pulsated, though contained, it still caused the healing stretches and tears to ache. She cracked her eyes open before quickly shutting them against the blinding light. Another hushed whisper later, a rustling movement to her left, and then a voice.

"Miss Selwyn, the curtains are closed. Please open your eyes."

Caramel eyes opened slowly to the voice of Narcissa Malfoy. Hermione had heard her voice only once before, but it was one you didn't forget. Soft, but commanding. The voice of elegance and power. The room was indeed darker, tolerably so, but she wasn't able to get much details due to the presence of the people within the room. Draco and Lucius Malfoy sat near the end of the bed, reclining on some leather chairs a couple feet away from her bed near the fire, while Bellatrix, who nearly startled the brunette, was standing next to Narcissa with an unreadable expression on her face.

Narcissa Malfoy had her long blonde hair pulled back away from her face in an elegant twist, her age hidden from the years of beauty and lucky genes. Ears adorned in the finest of jewelry, and dressed in deep Slytherin green robes with silver embroidery along the hems, sleeves, and collar line, she definitely looked like the Lady of the Manor. Her gray eyes met with hers as Hermione finally gained her bearings.

"Where am I?"

"You are still in Malfoy Manor," she replied, helping Hermione drink from a glass of water. She smiled small at the woman gratefully. "It is 2 o'clock in the afternoon on Friday, the 20th of September, and you passed out yesterday at 1 o'clock in the morning. The healers have informed us of severe damage to your body caused by rapid magic expansion that your core was unable to contain, including broken ribs and extreme strain on your magical vascular system. Your body needs time to heal, and what needs healing cannot be healed overnight with potions."

Hermione nodded slowly, understanding now the stiffness in her form. Magic traveled through a series of circuits throughout the body, with very similar pathways akin to the blood veins: it's where the theory of magic spurring from bloodlines originated. The excess magic her body had been unused to carrying because Dumbledore had suppressed it had rapidly stretched out these circuits instead of allowing them to grow with her age as it should have done naturally if her magic had been untouched.

She peered at herself slowly, making no sudden movements. Her chest, from her breasts to just above her hips, were wrapped in bandages, probably due to the broken ribs and the tears on her body she inflicted on herself accidentally. Perched above her heart, ingrained on her skin, was a glowing rune, which she roughly translated for it to say 'connect'. Gazing at her hands, she noticed those were bandaged too, and idly wondered if she could ask Voldemort what exactly her had drawn on her hand yesterday. She looked back at Mrs. Malfoy. "What all do you know?"

"I know that I have a cousin I never knew I had." She replied, a water smile emerging. "It is always a blessing to discover family. I also know about what Dumbledore has done." Hermione looked over to Bellatrix, who was clenching her fist, her face taunt with an emotion Hermione wasn't sure of. Narcissa looked at her sister with an imploring look.

"That filthy old man defiled one of the purest lines in existence." She spat out, her curls shifting with every slight head movement she made. "My own cousin was denied her birthright, being forced to live with Muggles, and now this." She gestured to Hermione's prone, broken body before looking away in anger. Hermione was taken aback.

"I could've been killed." She said simply. Bellatrix stared back at her in shock. "I could've been killed. He could've killed me as an infant, and my mother's bloodline would've ended with me. You can lament over me being raised by muggles; it won't change it." She said firmly, holding up her bandage hand when it looked like Bellatrix was going to interrupt. "It happened. I have suffered for it, suffered for trusting the man I thought I knew. But I am here now, and he is dead. I just want to move forward from it." Hermione said quietly, letting out a tired breath at how brash she sounded in disregarding Dumbledore. Regardless of what he had done, she could only remember a kind face, and it made it that much harder to dislike him.

"What will you do now?"

Hermione looked back up at Bellatrix's face, shocked at the lack of shouting, ranting, and raving she'd assumed the unbalanced witch would give. But all she could see was sanity and clarity, and Hermione was forced to rethink what she thought she knew about the Lestrange wife. She looked thoughtful, taking note of the hope that Narcissa and Bellatrix hid behind their eyes.

"Well, I can't go anywhere now," Hermione began slowly, wincing when she moved her should to stretch. "I need time to recover from this, but I don't really have a place to go-."

"You know you are more than welcome to stay here, Miss Selwyn." Lucius Malfoy had entered the conversation finally, his calculating gray eyes holding reserved approval. "I must say, I find myself much more accepting of Draco coming second to you in your final year at Hogwarts knowing who you truly are now. It makes so much more sense." Hermione pushed down the irked feelings that the remark brewed and tried the more civil approach.

"And how do you suppose that, Mr. Malfoy?"

Calm and collected, he leaned forward, his arms resting on his cane.

"Magic in those of purebloods or those of magical parents is natural; hereditary. To simply chalk it up to magical theory, as I am sure you're familiar with, magic cannot come from nothing. It must emerge somewhere, and from muggleborns who have their magic passed down from squibs or distant magical ancestors, it is simply unnatural; they have parents who never had magic, their body's genetic makeup is not prepared for the onslaught of magical power." He gestured to her, a smirk evident on his face. "Tell me, Miss Selwyn, name one muggleborn in history that has been above average naturally."

Hermione's face fell. Lily Potter couldn't be used as an example, because it wasn't natural for her. She had been a potions protege, which had not required magical power or magical prowess, but just good mathematics, logic, and an attention span beyond a teenage sex drive. But she'd been with Harry when he had discovered his mother's old school results. She had scored better than the entire class, but the entire class had been coasting average, and she had just been the queen of the average scores. She stared quietly at the patriarch.

"But why do you consider them less than you?" She implored quietly. "Why kill people who can't match our magical power? Why not leave them alone?"

"We have to hide everyday," Narcissa had her hands in her lap, stare firm and fierce while she was staring at Hermione. "My magic sets me apart, as a superior, and yet I have to hid in fear of those who are too weak to control and contain it? If a magical child performs accidental magic for the first time outside of the house, the first priority is not to celebrate, as we should, but instead to look around quickly in the off chance some muggle freaks out about it." She clenched her robes firmly, her eyes trying to make Hermione understand.

"With the increase in integration of muggle culture and muggle ways, the superiority of magic is dying. Our culture is dying, Hermione." Bellatrix said firmly, her face confident and in disgust at the thought of muggles. "Everyday, our traditions that have been practiced for thousands of years are being outlawed as dark because we perform it, and not because of the magic itself which does no harm. They want to seem modern. But instead of carrying on the traditions and altering them in a modern fashion, they bring the filthy muggles and their ways into a world that's not theirs."

Hermione had honestly never thought about it that way. When considering the muggle world, she'd always heard complaints from her Chinese neighbors over the lack of respect for Chinese culture and mannerisms, but she'd always disregarded them because they were in the U.K., and it was unfair for British folk to know and be forced to memorize a minority from another country's way of life. If she had taken a moment, that thought process could have been applicable to here. Only they didn't see the muggle culture being brought into the wizarding world as cultural appropriation, they saw it as an invasion.

"The muggles and muggle-lovers are trying to make true wizarding traditions extinct, Gran—Hermione." Draco Malfoy drawled out, ignoring his mother's look over his slip. "It's war. A lesson needs to be taught. "And with the muggle-lovers in the Ministry slowly being rooted out, it's only a matter of time before wizarding culture can progress- the wizarding way. Not the muggle, non-magical way. Why apply a culture to a community that doesn't fit that culture?" He reasoned, and for once, Hermione couldn't counter it.

The Death Eaters and supporters had been painted as insane bigots. Hermione still wasn't totally convinced that they weren't, chalking her acceptance of their logic over a tired body and exhausted mental facilities. Dumbledore had said that they killed because they liked to kill, and that wizarding traditions of the purebloods could never be modernized.

But this was coming from the same man who bound her magic, erased her identity, and nearly killed her for the 'greater good'.

"Get out."

Hermione had never seen a room clear so fast before. She didn't need to pull herself out of her thoughts to know who had entered the room and ordered the powerful purebloods out. She gazed at the pale face once more, this time in the flesh and without the dire circumstances, and stared.

He definitely had a commanding presence, with his jet black robes in pristine condition, his red eyes sharp and piercing, and the magic, Hermione could definitely feel the magic. It crawled into the room, no, not crawled, slithered into the room like a million snakes, filling up each available space until it wrapped itself gentle around her frail form. She was about to give in and relax to the feeling and then she frowned and looked up at him.

It wasn't like she couldn't sense magic beforehand. The ability may have been muted, but she could always sense it before. Everyone's magic had a personality linked to the witch or wizard it belong to. But never had anyone's magic reacted to hers before. Other people's magic simply brushed past another person like as if one was walking in an air conditioned building from a hot day. One's magic didn't react to another's magic unless in battle. But his didn't.

Her magic reached out to his without her direction, mingling with his, who also seem very perplexed at the situation as well, with her coming to the conclusion that it wasn't him causing this either. She could feel his magic with her own, even inside her own body, and then, the aches throughout her system were easing to a more manageable pain that she could relax her body on the soft bed.

As she relaxed, she watched him cautiously, and was waiting for her instincts to tell her that this man was dangerous, to be feared, and that she needed to run. But it never came. He sat down on the chair Narcissa Malfoy had occupied prior, reclining leisurely, and staring intently at her. So, she decided to start.

"Why does it do that?" She gestured to the air. He seemed to understand, and looked up as if he could almost see the magic itself interacting in the strange way it was. But he wanted to change the topic.

"What do you remember after meeting me in the ballroom? Regarding what I said." He commanded in a soft, firm tone. Taken aback, Hermione pressed her memory to drudge up the painful events of yesterday, fast forwarding through her exhausting trek up to Malfoy Manor and the stunning entrance she made in the vast ballroom. Then,

" _After all, it's not every day that the most powerful wizard in the world has the opportunity to be presented with his magical companion."_

"Magical companion?" She parroted from her memory, looking to him for confirmation. It wasn't so much that he was the Dark Lord and she, a friend of the late Harry Potter, but scholars and practitioners of magic face with the unknown that only they could solve. The technicalities would have to come later. Voldemort nodded silently.

"You know as well as I do that there is no such thing as two identical magical signatures in any two people in the world, even mother and child." Hermione nodded along, her eyebrows furrowing.

"So we-"

"Yes and no." He cut her off, and was out of the chair and pacing the room, his robes billowing in his wake. He stood before the fireplace, his arm on the mantle, head resting against his forearm as he gazed into the flames. Hermione waited.

"Our magic is, by all intent and purposes, _meant_ to be the same." He began, and Hermione felt the room grow cold despite the fire the moment she heard his undetected fury. "However, that meddlesome old fool was tampering with magics he hadn't bothered to research, to understand the consequences of suppressing someone's magic and not his own." Hermione remained silent. So was her magic damaged? Was she broken? Was this whole endeavor in vain, that she'd never access her correct magic ever again?

"No, your magic is not damaged, nor are you broken." He replied to her unvoiced thoughts, startling her out of the inner pity party that was building in her mind. It certainly was impressive that he hadn't needed to look at her eyes to hear what she was thinking. But was that a sign of his power, or their connection?

"Both. Now back onto the main issue at hand," He began again, the room becoming warm again after Hermione had shivered. "The runes on your hand and mine allowed me to channel my magic through your system to help your body cope with the magical strain before it was too late. Your magic was expanding your core, and mine was healing the damage so it wouldn't kill you. I combined the runes of _othala_ and _eiwhaz_." He admitted, his palms open.

 _Othala_ was a rune, rooting in the concept of family and ancestry. _Eiwhaz_ was another rune, but for life, endurance, and protection. The combination made it possible for him to filter his magic directly through her vascular circuits of magic to help alleviate the damage. It wouldn't have worked if their magic hadn't been compatible. It made sense, she realized, because they were both heirs to powerful wizards and extremely distant relatives, though they were so far apart that Hermione wouldn't really consider him any sort of family.

Not that the Dark Lord was family material.

"So what happens now?" She asked finally. Now that she was here, now that they knew who she really was, were they going to force her to give up information about the Order? Would they send her away because she was raised by Muggles?

"Now, you heal." Voldemort shrugged, his face calculating and almost thoughtful. "Your body took a heavy toll, and you are not used to such high and powerful amounts of magic. I can only theorize, as such." His cold, dangerous eyes flashed to her face. "It's not everyday I get to train with someone who matches me in both power and intelligence."

Hermione blanched and quickly wiped the emotion off her face. "What makes you think I'd train with you?"

"You'd rather walk around untrained with unintended consequences that could result from not being directed?"

"I'd rather not be trained by a man who killed my best friend's parents, orchestrated the murder of my best friend, and is widely considered a Dark wizard." She said firmly, her eyes avoiding the obviously amused Dark Lord. "I will find my own way of handling my magic, and I will do so without using dark magic or from a user of such. Just because Dumbledore did wrong by me, it doesn't mean I have to give up my morals."

Placing a long arm on each side of her head, Voldemort's eyes peered into her very soul, his magic almost constricting, like a boa. "You can delude yourself into that old fool's teachings. But you will crack, Miss Selwyn. You cannot do this without me, and if you must learn the hard way, do not expect sympathy from me. You will come to me when the time is right. I can only hope your stint with the muggles hasn't diminished your ability to deduce when that time is."

And with that final word, he strode from the room, the smirk still plastered on his face. She would come to him, and then he would have his reward.

 **How was it? Read, review, and tell me what you think! :D**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed the last chapter! More interaction between Hermione and Voldemort ahead! Hope I've been keeping Hermione in the correct character. Enjoy chapter 5!**

 **Warning: Maturity, violence, etc.**

 **Disclaimer: There's sand everywhere...**

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Hermione wasn't able to move at all for the next three days. Voldemort hadn't lied like she had expected him to; her body had taken a heavy toll, but it was on the mend. Every day, the Malfoys brought in the same two Healers, Gilbert and Heatherware. Both were famous in the field, but she wasn't surprised that they would get her the best: they had the money to do it after all.

"Miss Selwyn, for the last time, you need to relax." Healer Heatherware scolded her slightly abashed face. "Two days ago when I was here, your muscles were too tense for your some of your circuits to heal fully, and today I find you in the same condition! What is stressing you so much that your muscles remain tense?"

Hermione glared at the healer. She was in a manor full of people that, if encountered a week prior, would have blasted her off the face of the planet just for breathing, she was a magical companion to the darkest wizard in the world, and she was facing an existential crisis over her own identity thanks to a man she had once trusted over everyone. But she couldn't really tell the Healer that, could she?

"Just having night terrors. It makes it hard to relax." She mumbled out the lie, feeling guilty for making the Healer's life difficult. No doubt the 'money-can-fix-everything' purebloods would take it out on the Healers if her recovery was any less than stellar. She forced her muscles to relax as the Healer did her work. As soon as Bellatrix walked in, however, Hermione immediately tensed up again, causing Healer Heatherware to sigh in frustration. From the corner of her eye, she watch Healer Gilbert gather the elder Malfoys and Bellatrix and escort them from the room.

Once her healer departed, Hermione focused hard on the cracked doorway, tentatively using her magic to extend her senses to hear what they were saying.

"...because every time one of you walks in, she tenses up as a reflex! It is almost textbook symptoms of traumatic stress, not to mention prior to her discovering her birthright, she has been in the front lines of a war." It was Healer Gilbert, his deep voice sounding concerned and serious. "Regardless of how strong she is magically, her experiences at such a young age without any support, combined with the trauma of being betrayed by someone she very much trusted, she's on the verge of a breakdown unless something is done."

"You can give her a Calming Drought, can't you?" Lucius Malfoy would not know what to do with himself if he encountered a problem magic or potions couldn't solve. "It'll relax her right up!"

"A Calming Drought is temporary, Lord Malfoy," Healer Heatherware explained. "Too many doses, and she will become addicted, or her muscles will begin to experience atrophy."

"Besides," Healer Gilbert was back again. "It still doesn't solve the psychological issues that plague her. No contact with family or friends, in a place that once held fear for her and still does, on top of being at her most vulnerable."

" _We're_ her family!" Bellatrix. Hermione nearly lost her concentration in surprise: so Bellatrix was playing doting family member?

"You weren't her family a week ago, Madame Lestrange. If I may be so bold, she knows none of you. Perhaps gaining her trust and getting to know her would allow her to relax around you." Then he dropped his voice lower, and Hermione had to really pour in her magic to listen in.

"Keep Antonin Dolohov away from her. Her magic went berserk when he walked by her door, I don't even want to know what would happen if he was in the room with her. It would undo all her healing within minutes."

Hermione's heart froze. Dolohov was here? Of course he was here, this was a Death Eater keep, a meeting spot for all sorts of Dark witches and wizards, why wouldn't he be here? She touched the faint scar that rested underneath the rune on her chest. He nearly killed her. The blood lust and malice in his eyes, the excruciating pain and weeks of recovery. The night terrors that followed. She shut her eyes, taking deep breathes.

Suddenly, the two glass windows and the mirror on the nearby vanity set shattered instantly, startling her from her attempts to calm herself. She gripped the blankets tighter, squeezing her eyes shut as her core throbbed from the emotional upheaval she was going through. _Come on, Hermione._ She scolded herself, feeling the tears escape her clenched eyes. _You're stronger than this. He won't hurt you again._

"What's all the commotion?"

Her head shot up, eyes wide. Dolohov was here. He was nearby. The door, which was about to be opened by an alarmed Lucius Malfoy, slammed shut. Locked. No one was allowed in anymore, so long as Dolohov was nearby. Hermione's hands began trembling as her magic became wild around her, shattering more glass and tearing apart the nearby leather furniture. She could faintly hear pounding on the door, her magic taking note of the blasting curses that were being aimed consistently and failing, but she didn't care. All that mattered was that Dolohov wasn't in here.

She slid out of bed, her knees wobbling before collapsing to the floor. Her ankles were bandaged as well, with her right leg having been wrapped all the way to her knee. Her pajama pants, the light gray silk that felt cool against her burning skin, was the only shred of clothing she was wearing, seeing as her chest was bandaged and covered her just fine. Her curls trailing down her back and front, wild and untamed in the winds of the magic, were soft.

She looked around quickly. It was obvious she wasn't going to be able to escape, not in her condition. She had become too complacent. They were the enemy, she reminded herself. Why had she come here in the first place? And then she saw it: runic chalk. Dragging her body across the smooth floor, she knocked over the side table in her efforts to claim the magic chalk before beginning to work.

In the back of her mind, she wondered why she was doing this. Her magic was destroying the room, branching wildly from her core; untamed. The runes came so naturally to her, but Hermione didn't recognize them at all. Her hand was moving without her permission, creating a circle of runes around her.

She used her left hand, one she had control over, and pulled at her right wrist. But as she resisted, the fear and anxiety tugged at her heart again, and her resolved wavered. The panic was really settling in when the rune for sealing appeared, and she began to understand what was happening. What happened next, she hadn't know she was capable of doing.

She shoved her magic in the direction of the door, shielding the occupants on the other side before blasting apart the floor beneath her. The resulting explosion that ripped apart the entire room shook the entire Manor, collapsing the floor and most of the walls of the room. Debris ricochet around her as she clung to a remaining pillar in the room, her legs halfway over the collapsed floor dangling precariously. If she had been a second later, she'd be holding onto the ledge for her life or possibly dead.

Suddenly, the shatter pieces of the floor began to reconnect, and the floor that was slanted to break from under her was slowly repairing itself. Her magic began to sway like the wind again, the rebellion and wildness suddenly tame, and she felt her core being caressed by magic that wasn't her own. It was then she knew who was responsible.

Standing at the now-repaired doorway was an extremely livid Lord Voldemort.

He towered over her in an instant, his red eyes flashing, and his magic looming behind him like a black tidal wave prepared to crush her. "Just what do you think you're-"

"Is this some kind of joke?" She yelled at him, her eyes furious and leaking with tears of exhaustion and fear. "To put some kind of compulsion on me? Did you think that by making me lose myself to my deep fears and losing control that I'd put myself back under the bindings?" No one probably screamed at the Dark Lord like that, with any indication from the faces behind Voldemort.

"I don't care much for babbling, Miss Selwyn." He hissed at her, grabbing her arm. Whatever he was going to say after making eye contact was immediately dropped as his face hardened. He lifted her bodily towards the bed and laid her flat over the covers, his fingers snapping to summon his wand. As he stood over her again, the hysterics began flooding in again.

 _He is evil. He will never help you. Get away. Your magic calls to him. Get rid of it._

It took her a moment to realize that she gasped the words out herself in a half-strangled tone, and it took all her willpower not to claw at Voldemort's face as he concentrated on her form. He strapped her down to the bed with a quick binding spell, only needing it for a moment. His smooth, long pale fingers trace their way up towards her navel, and the close he got to her magical core, the more violently she thrashed and the more her magic spiraled out of control.

"My Lord!" Healer Gilbert yelled from the doorway over Hermione's screams. "If she continues with any further emotional trauma, it'll shred her sanity!"

Voldemort said nothing, his face twisted in dark fury as he gripped Hermione's face roughly, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "You have to consent. Do you want me to help control your magic?!"

Hermione tried opening her mouth, but a gargled hiss emerged instead. She desperately communicated with her eyes, the suspicion still etched firmly that he was the main cause of this, that she consented to whatever he was doing, so long that it gave her back her control. He must have heard it, because he returned to her navel once more.

"Focus, Hermione, your magic toward your core. Force it all into your core like you're trying to keep water in a container. No cracks, no spills. Do it." He hissed out his orders, pointing his wand at her stomach. Hermione's body jolted, her back arching as she forced her magic into her body. It was like taming a wild horse with no prior experience. It bucked and kicked and thrashed, but she was stronger. Before sealing her core with the wildness inside of her, she could feel something unsettling within some remnants around her core.

Voldemort didn't give her a chance to investigate, as he hissed out a chant in a language she suspected to be Latin before she shrieked with pain. It was the most intense, violating thing she'd ever felt in her life. Vaguely she could see the lights within the room darken, the green light emitting from Voldemort's wand to her navel was pulling out a wispy blue light flecked with black shards and separating it from the green. The green light was returning to her body, but the blue was being funneled in an nearby object Hermione could only guess to be Goblin made.

Suddenly, the blue was completely detached from her, and her body gave a painful jerk before becoming still. Voldemort violently tossed the blue light in the object before sealing it shut, and then for the first time in twenty minutes, the room was silent. Hermione was panting, sweat beading down her face, and her throat feeling like rough sandpaper.

A glass vase shattering eliminated the silence as Voldemort's fury had apparently not been abated by whatever actions he had just done. He looked at Lucius Malfoy, who was pale with shock in the doorway next to his wife and son. "Dumbledore still manages to meddle beyond the grave. Lucius, we discussed what actions that needed to be done should I discover anything further. Carry out the mission." The room trembled with the unmistakable fury laced in his voice.

He then turned to Narcissa and Bellatrix. "I want all of my followers to know by the end of the day tomorrow that this wing is off limits to all except myself unless invited by Miss Selwyn. This includes you." He hissed, dismissing them effectively with a wave of his hand. They left hurriedly, Narcissa Malfoy glancing at Hermione's exhausted form with concern before following orders. The door closed, and they were alone.

Hermione's eyes never left his form, his back fully towards her, the anxiety and rage from before having drained out of her as suddenly as it had come before. Her hands were trembling, and the tear tracks were still wet on her face. She hated feeling like this: it was like being a damn teenager all over again with the wild magic and incapability of controlling her emotions.

"I don't understand." Her hoarse voice rang out in the silent room. "There are better ways to coerce me into doing what you want. Why would you further try to damage my magic?"

He was suddenly an inch away from her face, his own masked in fury. "You think after all the effort I put in to ensuring your magic was spared that I'd deliberately seal it away to spite you?"

"No," she shot back, her face just as furious. "As you may have noticed, I managed to stop myself from sealing it away, a convenient result for you to come swooping in with your intense magical control as a way of showing me that I need you to survive or I'll fall apart."

"For someone hailed as the brightest witch of her age, you seem to be awfully stupid, Hermione Selwyn." He sneered at her, his expression disdainful as he looked down at her.

"Am I?" She was nearly in his face now. "You're a Dark Lord, known for master manipulation, for getting whatever he wants while making it look like he didn't force the person to give it to him, and powerful enough to use whatever means necessary. You have a newly discovered Pureblood witch at your disposal, one with a bloodline as endangered as your own with magical power that matches yours. This isn't, of course, including the magical and health benefits of having a magical companion within consistent distance of yourself. So tell me again, why should I believe otherwise?"

He was silent, his eyes still reflecting the inner fury and exertion of magical power he had used not five minutes prior, before his arm swept across the room. "I will make this very clear, Miss Selwyn," he said slowly, his voice cold and reeking with power. "If there is one thing I learned with having such magical power, is that control is paramount to your survival, or you die. I know you will eventually come to me, I do not need to manipulate any situation to get you to do so. I have plenty of other things I would rather be doing than wasting my time trying to speed up what is inevitable."

"Dumbledore left you a postmortem gift, so to speak." He jabbed his finger in the direction of the sealed goblin artifact. "For powerful wizards, it is easy to inflict a compulsion upon someone, especially one who has been deliberately weakened. As you know, compulsions last beyond death. They don't break unless broken by one of greater magical power or sheer willpower." He hissed, before sneering down at her. "Your precious Dumbledore didn't trust you to do anything for his 'greater good'. He knew you'd come to me, so the compulsion activated and amplified your distrust of my followers to isolate you long enough to attempt a resealing."

Hermione's shoulders slumped. Dumbledore always had a backup plan; Harry used to tell her all the time whenever things went wrong, Dumbledore knew how to come back from any defeat. He had never had faith in her, not that he was right to as she hadn't even attempted to reseal her magic, but it was a matter of principle. He hadn't trusted her to do the right thing. Her heart throbbed with hurt.

"However," Voldemort's voice was deadly now. "Regardless of your important status, yell at me in front of my followers against and I'll reseal your magic until you've learned your lesson."

She glared back up at him, taken aback once she had to see he was smirking. Was Voldemort really trying to cheer her up? She shelved that abhorrent thought for another day. Nodding slightly, she reclined back into her bed, surprised he was still there. Was there more? Eyes, questioning.

"The Healer has reported to me." Voldemort said, slowly rotating his wand in what seemed to be a long-time habit. "You need to understand that as long as you are here, you will not be harmed. Not by any of my followers." Hermione nodded again, but her heart was too loud.

"Antonin Dolohov has been banned from this wing until further notice. You would be wise to not let your emotions rule your magic," He lectured her, sliding a book in front of her. "You will begin your magical recovery and eventual training with me starting next week. It would be wise and beneficial of you to find allies here among my followers. They don't all bite."

He turned to leave, Hermione's gasp of outraged stopping him, as he turned his head slightly to see her outraged face.

"I told you once," She said firmly at him, her caramel eyes rebellious and stubborn. "I don't want to be trained by you. I can do it myself."

"We can sit here and argue about it all day, Hermione." He said, his smirk half visible from his turned face. "Or you can face the fact that you can read about magical control all you want, but the real challenge is applying it, a skill only one person in this country can accomplish with the same amount of power you possess."

"Books were made to be put into practice."

"Books were made to understand the practice, as educational material." He shot back. "You would have never learned how to do a mere levitation charm without Flitwick swishing it in front of your face. The concept of apperation cannot be taught without a visual and physical demonstration. Books are only a third of the journey. Your biggest weakness is placing too much faith in one concept, or in one person. Set aside your pride and do what is best for you, regardless of what others will think."

Hermione reclined back, her head throbbing with an oncoming headache. Too many decisions that have made her question the essence of who she was. Training with Voldemort didn't mean she was going to learn how to torture people or kill them, she reasoned silently. It was magical control, so she wouldn't accidentally level an entire building if she got angry. It was in his best interests, especially if he wanted to keep his followers alive and intact (not that she'd ever kill someone) to make sure she knew how to wield the vast power she was gifted with.

Looking back up at his smirk, an acceptance on her lips, she found she didn't need to say anything. He tossed another book at her, already halfway out the door before nodding to her.

"Remember, Hermione, a week from now, be prepared. I will not go easy on you. And stop saying my name in your head. You better get used to calling me your Master."

 **Shorter than the last chapter, but still hopefully interesting! :) Read, and review my friends. I would love some constructive feedback as always, simply saying the fiction is great is nice and all, but I would like to know what is great about it, just so I can see what you're loving so much! I appreciate it!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I'm on a roll right now with this fanfiction. I can tell you all right now, this is the first time I've ever beaten my writer's block, which usually appears after the second chapter and results in me rage-deleting my fanfiction. I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this, and hope that you continue to enjoy the twists and turns I will be throwing at you in this fiction.**

 **Warning: Mature scenes, bigotry etc.**

 **Disclaimer: Wow...so much sand.**

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True to his word, Hermione had no visitors for the next three days except for the Healers and Voldemort himself. Though she detested the man, he had given her a lot to think about while she recovered. After the first day, it became easy for her to relax, a change her Healers praised extensively towards the efforts of her body repairing itself quicker. She definitely felt the difference: the soreness was slowly going away and she was able to walk straight and upright once more.

It was the middle of her fourth day of recovery after the compulsion incident and Hermione was feeling better than she had felt in her longest memory. It was a change from every year being some sort of life-threatening adventure with Harry and Ron, some battle with someone trying to kill her, or other complications that couldn't be foreseen. She found it quite ironic that she would be experiencing this kind of bliss at the headquarters of the Death Eaters.

In her lap was Ingram Kalashnikov's _The Flow of Magic_ , in which Hermione had been vigorously studying, using an interesting device to allow her to place her parchment and quill by her lap so she could take notes and write questions to ask Voldemort. She had resigned herself to her fate, but would be damned if she wasn't going to use the resources available to her. He had assigned a house elf, Dusty, to her beck and call. The elf was under orders not to take her out of the Manor, but Hermione hadn't thought of escaping. She knew she wouldn't get far.

Throughout her reading, however, Hermione was slowly getting more and more frustrated. The concepts in the book were interesting to say the least, and she understood what it was saying, but to put it into practice, well. She grudgingly gave the Dark Lord brownie points for being correct: books were only useful to explain concepts. There would have been no way she could have applied this to herself without being shown first.

She closed the book and sighed.

" _It would be wise and beneficial of you to find allies here among my followers. They don't all bite."_

It was incredibly annoying for him to be right all the time. While she appreciated the space from all the faces she once associated with evil, she could feel herself slowly going insane in this room with only a house elf for company. She couldn't very well summon Voldemort himself every time she was bored: she needed more intellectual company. But would he...?

"Dusty?" She called out cautiously. A _crack_ echoed in the room before the tiny thin house-elf appeared before her, wearing what appeared to be a dull green pillow case with holes cut out for the arms and head. Dusty was a relatively young house elf, around the same age Dobby was, his skin pretty smooth for a house elf, and quite efficient at his job. After being questioned by Hermione, she learned that he served Voldemort directly and only, and now by extension, her. Hearing this, her outlook on the Dark Lord softened. If indeed he had wanted her weakened, he would not have given her access to his own personal elf. She almost felt touched, had she not remembered who he was.

"Lady Selwyn be calling Dusty?" The elf implored, his large green eyes focused admiringly at the young woman. She had hypothesized that all the house elves were trained about Pureblood bloodlines and which ones were superior, because all the elves she'd come into contact with were eager to serve her, whereas in comparison to how they treated a wayward member of the Smith family who joined the Death Eaters with less eager and usually took longer to accomplish their duties for them. This behavior seemed to be tolerated by the higher ranked Purebloods, so they weren't punished.

Hermione nodded kindly to the small elf. "I would like you to approach Draco Malfoy, provided he isn't busy, and hand him this." She gave the elf a small envelope. Early yesterday, a box had appeared on her nightstand with a note attached. Noticing the Slytherin wax sealing on the envelope, she didn't have to guess where it came from. Inside the box was stationary and two pictures: One of just her mother, and the other of both her parents on their wedding day. The stationary contained an impressive amount and quality of parchment with the Ravenclaw emblem at the top in the center. Also included in this box was a similar shade of blue akin to her favorite blue sundress she had in wax form, with a stamp also embellished with Ravenclaw's seal. The entirety of the box was related to reflect her status as Ravenclaw's rightful heir. The note just said to _use it well_.

"Show off." She mumbled, setting aside the box on the bed to her right. Was Voldemort feeling lonely in his solitary heir status from one of the founders? Hermione giggled to herself. No, he was definitely not lonely. If anything, it was a power flex. Ravenclaw's heir residing within the Slytherin heir's home? Definitely a flex. She snorted and rolled her eyes at the thought.

But how could Draco Malfoy refuse the invitation of the most amazing heiress of the most intelligent family in history? She had considered, briefly, lording her superior bloodline over his head in the missive, but dismissed the idea. It was petty, and she was bored. Perhaps Malfoy would be more tolerable now that they were equals in his eyes. Without the bigoted attitude, Draco Malfoy was second to her, and she had to concede that he knew things about this strange new Pureblood world that she did not know.

 _Mr. Malfoy,_

 _I humbly request your presence in my quarters. Dusty will be monitoring my rooms, so have no fear that your honor and purity will be questioned while here alone with me. It is within your rights to refuse._

 _Hermione_

It was short, sweet, and to the point. She wasn't going to sweet talk him into coming, but at the very least she would know where they stood. She definitely wasn't going to be insulted: they'd be enemies for years, it would be remiss if they dismissed that over recent events. However, just because it was his family's Manor doesn't mean Hermione would be taking his insults, or she'd curse him. Then she giggled as Dusty popped away with the note, an image in her mind she couldn't forget.

The amazing adventures of the Bouncing Ferret.

Shaking herself from her humor, she turned back to Ingram's book, scrawling down notes and making little marks next to questions she had. Idly wondering if she could eliminate Voldemort with the power of incessant questions. Nevertheless, she forged on.

About thirty minutes after she began reading, Dusty popped into her room quietly. Looking up from her book, she jumped slightly when she noticed Dusty hadn't come alone. Standing cool, calm, and collected was none other than Draco Malfoy. Hermione, before the incident regarding her magic, hadn't seen the Slytherin Prince since they graduated three years prior. He had definitely changed.

Gone was any of the adolescent innocence and spoiled demeanor of a child who was never told no and instead was replaced with class-induced elegance. Dressed in a black waistcoat over a long-sleeved white button-up, to which he had the sleeves rolled to just above his elbows, black pants in which she could only assume was fine quality, and dragon-hide shoes, Draco Malfoy was the perfect picture of a successful, wealthy heir. His hair was no longer slicked back, she noticed, and instead hung down slightly over his forehead. It almost looked fluffy.

She gently slid out of the bed, already dressed in anticipation of his acceptance to meet with her, dressed in a loose and comfortable sleeveless dress, a replica of the favorite royal blue one she used to own. Voldemort had warned her that the rune over her chest needed to be somewhat accessible in cases of emergency, so wearing anything covering like she usually did was out of the question. She instead had a white cardigan on to protect her modesty, as she was usually uncomfortable showing off so much skin. Grasping the bed and righting herself, she stopped short of the outstretched arm offered to her.

A small smile, and Draco Malfoy escorted her to the two comfy leather chairs by the fire at the end of the room. Settling her in her chair before sitting in his, she asked Dusty for beverages and light snacks, waiting for the house elf to disappear before focusing back on the blonde before her.

"I must say," he began, breaking the silence. "I was quite surprised to receive your note. My family and I were under the assumption that our presence was aggravating your recovery efforts." He didn't sound upset, mostly curious. Hermione watched him carefully before taking a deep breath, shrugging her shoulders.

"I won't lie. You and I have a bad history. No, don't say it's in the past," she added sternly when he opened his mouth, holding up her hand. "There was more rivalry beyond my mere blood status, and it would belittle both of our intellects for us to think otherwise." He sat back, his gray eyes staring down hers. "But," she added after a moment of silence. "Vol-Sorry," she hastily backtracked at his hiss. "The Dark Lord had a point: I have nothing to fear from you or your family anymore. In fact, we are family, though distant." She shot at him after he began smirking.

"Gran—Er, Miss Selwyn," he stuttered slightly at the correction.

"Hermione. We've known each other too long for formalities."

"Draco then." He added back. "Our rivalry will always exist. I'm not going to lie, I see you in a much better light and a worthier rival in intellect because of recent events. It's what I believe in, and if you can get it through that bushy hair of yours, you'll be able to realize that's why you were superior to all the morons we went to school with."

"Listen here, you bouncing ferret," She snipped back with a grin.

"Oh come on, not that."

"But you were so much tolerable. Squeaks are so much easier to ignore than that annoying shrieking you do."

"Malfoys do not _shriek_."

"Shriek, squeal, whatever word you want to associate it with," she dismissed his mocked gasp of outrage. There was a pause before both of them were laughing. Hermione knew that the only thing holding Malfoy back had been her blood status. It was understandable, though idiotic, because it was how he was raised and it was what he believed in. They would always be rivals, but she knew that without that animosity barrier of blood, it'd be easier to banter with the blonde without it escalating into violence.

"So, you're the heir of Ravenclaw." He said simply after they had settled. Dusty had appeared with the tea and snacks, so there was the occasional sipping between conversations. "I must say, when things happen to you Gryffindors, it's not exactly subtle, is it?"

Hermione shrugged. Compared to her Hogwarts days, this was nothing. 'Lets not forget the awesome powers I now have, of which I have no control over, and the overbearing attitude of a certain Dark Lord." She noticed him shift uncomfortably at her snip at his master. "As long as I don't disrespect him in front of his followers, it doesn't matter. I described his attitude towards me, it's not like I'm calling for his assassination." Draco chuckled slightly, relaxing.

"What's it like?"

"What?"

"Being the Dark Lord's protégé?"

She paused mid-sip of her tea. "I'm not his protégé. I'm a pet project in which he will most likely manipulate in the future to suit his purposes."

She saw him shrug slightly. "I've never seen the Dark Lord take such an interest in anyone as much as he has you. He's been preparing something. I'm not sure what."

"Would you be willing to find out?"

"I am not going to spy on the Dark Lord for you!" He hissed back to her quietly, looking around with worry. Hermione nearly slapped herself. Of course he wouldn't, he followed the man for Merlin's sake!

"Sorry, sorry. Impulsive question. So you're my cousin?"

"Second cousin, but yes." He resumed his relaxed position within the leather chair. "Came quite as a shock, to be honest. I hadn't thought great Uncle Alphard had married, and married someone so young."

"Yes," It had bothered Hermione a little bit over the large age difference between Alphard Black and her mother. Alphard must have been in his fifties before he married Rosemary for it to have been without the rest of the family outside of Walburga knowing about it or Hermione's conception. Having been ostracized from most circles after helping Sirius run away from his parents and the expectations of being an heir to the Black family, Alphard had apparently cut contact with everyone in his family. It seemed Rosemary's talks with Alphard's mother had been in secret. She was very young compared to her cousins.

There was an awkward pause. Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. While the malice over her blood status may be gone, her and Malfoy still were adjusting to trying to be friendly towards one another, at the very least, civil. This was one of the few times they had ever spoken in a cordial tone, and it was the first time it was a conversation about something personal. Hermione could almost feel the amount of work it would take to make things casual.

"Let's cut to the chase," Malfoy said, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. "You didn't just call me up here to make friends. Though I suspect your Gryffindor tendency focuses mainly on that, there is never just one reason with you."

Rolling her eyes, she nodded. "I'm a Pureblood now." She winced slightly, the words sounding foreign as she said them. "I'm a Pureblood now." She repeated. "I know nothing about being a Pureblood. What is right and what is wrong. I want to experience everything Dumbledore denied me when he placed me with my muggle family instead of my relatives. I want to know everything there is about being an heir too." Draco's face was nothing short of shock and almost pleased?

"You want me to...give you lessons?" Hermione nodded again.

"I won't be able to teach you everything. There are some things my mother and Aunt Bella would have to teach you." He informed her cautiously, noticing when she tensed up again. He rubbed his face and stood up.

"Listen, Granger- Sorry, sorry, Hermione." He corrected hastily. "You have a long way to go with your recovery, and the Dark Lord has plans involving you that are not my place to know yet. He seems to be the one in charge of everything involving you. If you want to know so badly, why not ask him? If he wants to delegate myself, my father, or anyone else, you need only just ask."

Hermione turned her thoughtful gaze to the fire, murmuring her farewell as he left. Maybe she would.

She had already been awake when Voldemort knocked and entered her room. She found it amusing that the Dark Lord knocked before entering a room, but it was probably for modesty and manners sake only. After all, she could be indecent or otherwise indisposed if he just rambled on in.

She sat on the stool he conjured for her, her back straight while dressed in a sleeveless green loose dress that wrapped elegantly around her neck and fell short just above her knees but cascaded down the back to drag on the floor. With it were matching green leggings that stopped at her calves. It had silver insignia's of snakes on the side, to which she had rolled her eyes at when Dusty had given it to her this morning. A note was attached with _To suit your new status_ scrawled in neat handwriting, she'd only guessed that it was gifted to her by Voldemort. The fronts of her curls were pulled back to wrap around her head into a halo, while the rest of her hair was softly trailing down her back. Dusty had managed to tame most of it into manageable curls that looked more elegant than ragged, and she was silently singing the elf's praises when she'd seen what he had done.

She wasn't sure if the gifts were meant to woo her for her support or if it was really just a restoration effort on his part. Nevertheless, once he entered, she thanked him immediately. He raised an amused eyebrow at the appreciation.

"I trust you enjoy the little outfit as well?" Hermione hesitated, then nodded slightly. He tilted his head curiously at her, his face unreadable, so she clarified.

"Well, I don't want to seem ungrateful," she hedged. "But, erm. In terms of practicality, this dress is quite the opposite. And..." Voldemort said nothing, looking at her. It was totally unfair that he could read her mind, because it ruined her punchline.

"Green is just _not_ my color."

It was hard. She held her straight face for a solid minute before cracking a smile at his otherwise blank face. He rolled his eyes at her before tapping her back with his wand. She sat up straight again while he waved his magic. Whenever he performed magic around her, she could see why people followed him. Smooth, fluid wand work, the focus and absolute power the radiated from every spell he used, the fact that he could do so silently attested to his magical ability. She could slowly feel the familiar slithering of his magic into her magical channels, assessing, even aiding in the healing process, but even these were few and far in between.

"Why do you feel blocked?" She asked curiously when his magic withdrew. He stared at her for a brief moment. "I mean, whenever I felt your magic when I first got here, it was in a rhythm with mine, almost like..." her face blushed for a moment. "Like our magic was dancing."

"And what do you feel it is like now?"

He was watching her reactions closely, and she became more aware of his piercing gaze into what felt like her very soul. She thought about what she felt before gesturing to him. The slow slithering returned, and she felt her magical core reach out to him, but then...

"A wall." She announced. "But not a brick wall. It's almost like a sand bar, and our magic are on the opposite sides trying to go over it. Every time it gets close to touching, the sand bar gets a little higher." She looked at him, puzzled. The ritual he had done when the compulsion had activated had removed Dumbledore's influence from her sanity, and she was able to practice magic with all of her power. However, she was pretty sure Voldemort wanted to explore this magical companionship, and her inner scholar was aching to add her experiences to her notes. With this block, it would be impossible to come to any viable conclusions without there being a significant, reasonable doubt in place.

He was already flicking his wand silently around the room, moving the leather chairs by the fire against the wall and the bed on the far side to keep a wide open area in the center of the room. In the center of the floor were two, very thick plush pillows and surrounding them about three feet radius around them were seven candles. He snapped his fingers and the candles were lit, the fireplace dying instantly. Hermione followed him curiously, her bare feet hardly making noise as he sat on one of the pillows cross legged.

Out of all the things Hermione had seen in her life, Lord Voldemort sitting on a pillow on the floor would be an image she'd never forget. He gestured to the one opposite him, just hardly a foot from him. His robes spilled out behind him, and Hermione could vaguely see runic carvings glowing on the floor.

"What is this?" She said, her fingers tracing them slowly. There were seven runes on each side, each associated with a different type of path. Some, she recognized, and began to slowly identify a pattern even though there were elements she was unsure of. She sat cross legged, bunching the back of her dress to match how he arranged his robes.

"To ensure magical equality. You may match me in raw power, but you do not know how to control it. These runes on your left symbolize the darkness. The runes on your right signify light. They were classified as such for these purposes, to establish a balance. We will begin your training now."

She wasn't expecting his magic to flood her again, but she matched his sitting position, her palms resting on her knees, opened and facing the ceiling while she began to focus on his words. The soft, smooth hissing of his voice sent shivers down her spine.

"Allow your magic to seep slowly outwards."

She imagined a raven taking flight from her inner being. While swift, it glided from her to surround her, the wings expanding with every centimeter she wanted her magic to expand further to, but she faltered when it hit his magic.

"You are the master of the magic, Hermione." He breathed, keeping his magic near him while allowing hers to explore. "Will your magic to take the form of a stationary bird. Bend it to your will."

She could feel the sweat bead down her face. What he was asking was hard. It was easier to cast spells and enchantments, but to physically shape ones magic was the hardest thing Ingram Kalashnikov's book had mentioned. If she could do this, whatever they did next would be easy. She clenched her eyes, willing to keep her palms open.

"Look at me."

Caramel eyes met red. Beyond him, her eyes widened.

The great snake in its' magical form towered over him, its' heartless eyes neither malicious nor friendly, but it wasn't the magic she was thinking about. Without thinking she shut her eyes and pulled her magic towards her, but she was going too fast. The snake lunged, colliding with her shapeless magic, blocking the rush of magical energy from bottoming out her core. A hand snatched hers roughly and she let out a cry.

Then everything paused.

She could feel it. Their magic was interacting again, but even more different than the other two times. Slowly opening her eyes, she watched the swirling magic combat each other, but no side made a strike against the other. She turned her head towards him. How could she tell him that his magic took on the form of a creature that had haunted her nightmares for years?

"I have heard about your interactions with my Basilisk," He said quietly, his hand still gripping her wrist. Their magic was still interacting, almost circling one another. "You cannot let your emotions control your magic. You nearly killed yourself, your body is not ready for sudden rushes of magical power. It's still adjusting to accommodate your natural power."

She nodded slowly, taking another deep breath.

"You are in the preliminary stages, Hermione." He said, his eyes on her. "I expect mistakes, but my expectations from you are that they will be few. You are extraordinary. You do not get second chances on the same mistakes. I will dismiss this one, however, because I know my magic's form terrifies those who are very familiar with magical forms. I cannot expect you to accept it so easily on top of the resemblance of a creature that attacked you so young."

"Do not let this happen again."

She nodded slowly and he let go of her wrist, the circle still maintaining its' balancing act while their magic danced around each other. She reached out to her magic slowly, feeling its path before looking startled at the pale Lord. "It's channeling itself on its own."

Voldemort was watching their magic's interactions as well. The snake slithered clockwise around them, the distinct green hue around it distinguished itself from Hermione's blue hue'd, formless magic that flowed with it. The green and blue were rotating around each other while they flowed around the two. Voldemort looked at it, and then at her, thoughtfully.

He pushed his magic as it turned and rotated with hers and noticed the power increase. Inside him, he could feel his core glow. Nodding to her, she pushed as well, but her magical core did not glow like his was doing. The blue hue of her magic brightened slightly, but not as significantly as his had when he applied the pressure. His eyebrows furrowed slightly in thought, interrupted by Hermione's gasp.

"Do it again, please." She added hastily. Pretty sure Dark Lords didn't like being ordered around, and she wasn't one to be rude. She watched him do it again, only she timed hers the moment he did his. In the center of their circle between the two of them was a pressure, palpable and small, and Hermione could feel it near her core. The blockage!

"We need to keep doing it periodically, in smaller increased incriminates." She said firmly, focusing hard on the pressure to keep her focus on the magic. Her eyes met his, and she hoped he was on board for her hypothesis. He nodded once, his face impassive as ever. She pulled, he pushed. As they placed more magic into their rhythms, Hermione's blue hue of shapeless magic began morphing into the raven she kept picturing it as. Small, like a baby bird, but still taking shape. Their magic was maintaining the same pace, so Hermione resolved to do the same.

Push. Pull. Push. Pull.

His magic was applying the pressure, and her magic was pulling it closer to her core. Hermione could definitely feel the barrier now, and she took a deep breath as it became near unbearable.

"Now!"

With a mighty shove, Voldemort pushed his magic against the barrier on her magic as she pulled it through, and with a shriek, Hermione felt the damn break, the barrier destroyed, and her magic began to fill her. She was panting and covered in sweat, and suddenly two hands were gripping her wrists.

Remembering her warning from earlier, she turned her hands to grip his wrists, and then they reversed. She pushed, he pulled. He began pulling his magic away slowly while she siphoned it out of her system. The new space created from his occupied magic was being filled with her magic, the new accommodation allowing Hermione to slowly pull all the magic she had within her comfortably. The raven was bigger this time, matching the pace, the brightness, and the fluidity of his.

She breathed out. A hiss.

"Perfect."

And looked into the dangerous eyes of an extremely pleased Dark Lord.

"So the magic is a yin yang sort of deal then." She summarized as their magic slowly stopped their dance to return to their masters. Voldemort was cleaning the area while she remained sitting. It was a very unusual feeling, having all the magic in her as a stable entity that wasn't floating around the room as if it had a mind of its' own. It would take some getting used to.

Voldemort was nodding at her words. "It will take time, but your magic seems to balance mine. Whether it is due to my frequent use of darker curses or if it is taking account of our very beings, it will only be discovered with time."

"But the flow of our magic matches Uthman's theory of Balance! I mean, it coincided perfectly with the runic structure you created to ensure a theoretical gray area! Our magic, when in sync, created _neutral_ magic! I'm assuming you used the number seven three times to amplify the results?" At his nod, she squealed with excitement, summoning her parchment and quill with a wave of her hand. It was so easy, to not need a wand, to simply command something to her and it _did_. Because she willed it so.

Hermione could begin to see the dangerous allure of power.

As she scribbled down her notes, she failed to notice the amused glance of the Dark Lord hovering above her. Suddenly, she was floating and ungracefully deposited on the bed.

"Get some rest," he said, smirking at her outraged gasp, letting out a small chuckle at the site of her curls breaking free of their halo to fall back over her face. "You have done well."

The next morning, Hermione awoke to another package on her bedside table. Removing the lid, she let out a gasp as she pulled out a silky long day gown, one of the most beautiful and softest material item she'd ever had. To her surprise, it was her favorite color of royal blue. Inside was a choker necklace, diamond and sapphire if she had to bet, but in the shape of a snake that was meant to trail down her chest.

 _Green I may prefer, but royal Blue is a much better color on you._

 __ **Read, review, and let me know what you think! Lot's of interesting things happened in this chapter, and I really wanted to emphasize the fact that Voldemort is a genius. I prefer the turn of events where he doesn't go absolutely insane and that the entire Malfoy family are just a bunch of morons. It drives me nuts when their character personalities and histories are so flexible!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hey all! I know some people may have been turned off over the more descriptive and technical aspects of magic used in the last chapter, but I'm going to tell you now, it won't be the last of it. The essential part of this fiction is focusing on the fact that both Voldemort and Hermione are considered the brightest of their age, respectively, instead of the insanity path that J.K. Rowling chose for the series.**

 **Feel free to go read the other fanfictions that reduce every enemy Hermione has into a bumbling moron if you dislike the magical technicality aspect of my fiction, but she is a witch. A brilliant one at that. It makes sense to pose this fiction towards that of a genius.**

 **Warnings: Betrayal, hurt, angst, bigotry, mature.**

* * *

 **Disclaimer: Rowling should just sign HP stuff over to me.**

After the enormous breakthrough and destroying the last barrier hold that Dumbledore had, in vain, used to control her beyond the grave, Hermione found her magical training coming easier than before. Her magic's form maintained the raven all the time whenever it made an appearance; Voldemort had told her that because her magic was so powerful, it was able to maintain itself without her really needing to make an effort. The uncomfortable feeling of having so much power within her eventually dissipated as she adjusted, but he warned her to exercise her magic daily. Otherwise it would boil over like a pot that hasn't been stirred and set her back to square one.

It bothered her a lot that she was beginning to admire Voldemort as a figurehead of brilliance and of magical knowledge. The things he showed her were things Dumbledore, let alone anyone, would have never allowed her to see, let alone practice. A boiling curse, which she had thought dark, could be focused as an emergency medical technique should someone have a limb amputated to cauterize the wound. Even something as moronic as a low dose love potion in which brokenhearted witches could be diverted from their ex by focusing the potion to realign the witch to a productive hobby for a temporary amount of time.

 _"Remember Miss Selwyn, nearly everything magical can be used for both good and evil purposes."_

 _"But there are still absolutes."_

 _"There will always be absolutes. But never generalizations. There will always exist a spell that can only do good with no negative consequences for anyone, and there will always exist a spell that does the opposite. Many of those are beyond the reach of normal, average wizards."_

 _"But we're not average." It wasn't boasting if it was true._

 _"No, we're not. Just like there are never generalizations among magic, so true is it with people in our world. There are good people, and there are bad people. Some do good things but with negative consequences, and others do bad things with positive consequences. Spells, potions, enchantments, they are a direct parallel to human nature itself." He lectured to her, pacing in front of chalkboard that he periodically have his magic write what he wanted her to write down._

 _"So if there are no generalizations with people, what are the absolutes of our society?"_

 _"There will always be some more superior than the rest." He said with a confident, almost defiant look at her. Hermione's crusade for equality had been the subject of his taunts in their arguments over morality. "There will always be some less than the rest. From here, we have the Purebloods who pass down distinguished magical traits that many magical people will never have the privilege of. The Purebloods, who have maintained the ancient histories and magical traditions of Merlin and Circe, and are the ones who have held together this society for many, many centuries._

 _There are then the half-bloods, who, though foolish their parents were to distill magical blood, make up the middle to upper middle class of our society. They still understand, but they carry the taint of muggles that pull their loyalties in half. When it comes to the safety of the wizarding world and what is best for magical kind, their first thoughts are not always towards witches and wizards, but muggles. They are the reason why laws that would have bolstered our international relations and strengthened the foundation of developing magic earlier than Hogwarts."_

Hermione had been quite shocked to read about it. There had been talk in the early 20th century of introducing a magical primary school before Hogwarts for magical children in order for them to learn basic control to quell magical outbursts and make friends before house rivalry came into play. It had been an excellent idea, Hermione had thought so. But pro-muggle movements argued that it would be disadvantageous for muggleborn and half-blood children who lived in the muggle world and would further divide the magical advancement between Purebloods and half-bloods. Muggles, they argued, would already be denied their child to a world that didn't include them once the muggleborns turned 11, why do so at an earlier age? So the idea was scrapped, and feelings towards the movement she would have never expected from herself emerged and raged.

 _"And then there are the muggleborns. They bring with them no innovations for the magical cause, but for muggle accommodation. You were with muggles. Magic destroys muggle creations, they were never meant to mix. Their lack of understanding and foreign, non-magical introductions to witches and wizards who grew up with their birthright raises them to think we, the magical people, owe it to them to force muggle concepts in our way of life. Many of the muggleborns return to the muggle world for occupation and family raising, they don't contribute to the magical world nor contribute to magical innovations. They, for the most part, are a collective average in magical studies, where galleons are spent on those who will never return to favor of bestowing a free magical education upon them. The only time they see fit to participate in anything magical is if it concerns muggles. Always, Miss Selwyn, it is always the muggles they think of first. It is never us."_

 _"So then what is your plans for muggleborns?"_

 _"Simple," he told her. "We take away the indecisiveness. I have been working on seeing why muggleborns exist. How can they, without a magical ancestor? Magic does not randomly manifest in a being, it is genetic, it must come from somewhere."_

 _"You don't actually believe that muggleborns steal magic, do you?"_

 _He had rolled his eyes at her and waved his hand to dismiss her question, answering in an exasperated tone. "I am beyond such simplistic, unproven rhetoric. It is always more than what we see it as. However, my original hypothesis that I have proven to be true is not that far away from what I had once, as you do, thought as a ridiculous notion."_

 _Hermione raised her eyebrows. "You mean to tell me that Muggleborns actually do steal magic from wizards?"_

 _"Yes, and...no." He said, waving his hand so the diagram on the chalkboard would appear for her. On it were what Hermione had gathered as statistics. There were four categories: Purebloods, Half-bloods, Muggleborns and..._

 _"Squibs." She whispered quietly before returning her attention to a very exuberant Dark Lord._

 _"I had suspected, at first, that inbreeding among Pureblood families were the cause of squib births, until recently, Henrietta Bulstrode gave birth to a squib child. Henrietta Bulstrode is a half-blood, but her parentage was overlooked because her father had been a Prewett. The Prewett family, in all of the records I have at my disposal, never married within the Bulstrode family. There is no familial link to them. As I delved further into the family histories, it has become apparent to me that many families accused of intermarrying had just as much diluted blood within the Pureblood hierarchy as a half-blood whose mother was a muggle._

 _I gained access to the Hogwarts master list not too long ago. It lists the time, the date, the age, the blood status, and the name of a child the moment they are born. The exact moment Henrietta's child was born, her name appeared on the list, and then it disappeared."_

 _Hermione's mouth dropped._

 _"And then came a name of a child with a surname I did not recognize. Her muggleborn status was written next. So I began comparing the time and date of birth of all squibs to muggleborn children, and found a .89 correlation coefficient between the two linear associations ranging from over a century's worth of data."_

 _"So you nearly accomplished a maximum positive correlation between the rise of muggleborns and squibs? But correlation doesn't mean causation." She insisted. "Why .89? Why not 1? What factors prevented a maximum?"_

 _"The combination of magical and muggle deaths during the 30s and 40s because of the rise in dragon pox in the magical population and the muggle World War II. It caused an uptick in squib births, but with no muggleborns to account for the increase. My assumption in this case is many were victims of the London bombings or infant death from food shortages." Voldemort peered at Hermione, his red eyes never wavering. "Every other time within the past century supports my hypothesis."_

They both had agreed, at the end of the discussion, that more data would need to be recorded before Hermione could accept Voldemort's revelation. But then the discussion turned.

 _"So if muggleborns are not stealing the magic, how would they have the capacity to acquire it if it is not theft?"_

 _Voldemort smirked. "Because magic is alive. Your takes on its' own form on its' own whim. There are magics in this world that exist beyond the container of a human. Often times, a squib child is born weak. My theory: the magic senses the weakness and finds another infant to latch onto. Seeing as all other infants within the hospital are already magical, it finds the nearest child it can find regardless of parentage, but the distance it travels significantly weakens it. A possibility as to why most muggleborn witches and wizards perform at hardly the average rate. I would suspect that the closer a muggleborn child was born to St. Mungos, the stronger their magic would be compared to their counterparts in other locations."_

It was, she admitted quietly in her head, the best class she'd ever taken. No Ronald sitting next to her, expecting her to take all the notes so he could copy them later. No biased teachers looking to doc her points or make her feel bad for knowing all the material. Deviation beyond what she was expect to know and instead challenged to think beyond common thought. The things he taught her, the rationalization behind his ideology, was really placing her in a moral stint.

A sharp tapping emitted from the window, and her eyes snapped out of the revere to rise from the desk she was working at to allow the snowy owl in. Hedwig had been given to Ginny to help her grieve for Harry. Hermione realize that after nearly a month of being a resident at Malfoy Manor, none of her friends knew where she had gone. In her note, she'd explained that she'd taken a trip to get away in order to distress, enclosing a secret only she and Ginny knew to verify her identity and that she was not being coerced into writing the note. At the end, she'd ask Ginny when she could meet with her: she had to tell someone.

She stroked Hedwig, leading the beautiful owl over to the bowl of owl treats as she detached the message from her leg. Leaving the owl to its' own devices, she eagerly opened the message. Caramel eyes scanned over the familiar handwriting excitedly, an inner relief filling her over the familiarity of seeing a friendly note. But as her eyes finally began processing the words scribbled on the parchment, the room's temperature dropped a couple degrees, and Hermione's smile slowly began to fade.

"Dusty." She said coldly.

"Dusty is here Lady Selwyn, what is Lady needing done?"

"I need this past week's copies of the _Daily Prophet_."

The elf's ears dropped and he began wringing his hands nervously, avoiding the now cold eyes of an enraged Hermione Selwyn. Dusty's reaction was all she needed. In a whirlwind of papers, Hermione took Ginny's letter with her, leaving the study that was adjacent to her room and began storming down the hallways.

 _Too compliant, too trusting. Why hadn't I see through this facade before?_

She could feel his magic. It was easy for her to find him, the convenience of them being magical companions meant she could find him wherever he was: their magic had interacted so frequently that his magical signature was easily distinguished from others. As she walked down the halls of Malfoy Manor, her magic swirling angrily near her, she noticed three figures walking towards her.

Draco Malfoy was a Slytherin through and through, and in lieu of self-preservation, immediately plastered himself to the wall to avoid getting in her way. Evan Rosier, however, was not as intelligent it seemed, and stepped in front of the enraged witch.

It was too easy. A mere flick of her hand, and he was flying through the door of some unknown room to her right. He wasn't worth the waste of magic to curse. She needed to save her strength for the real challenge ahead. She turned a corner, the large doors not hindering her ability to know her target was on the other side. With a loud slam, her magic thrust the doors open, revealing the startled occupants of the room.

"Miss Selwyn, there are better ways of coming to lunch than slamming open the doors."

Lucius Malfoy's interjection was halted with her wand at his neck, finally realizing that this wasn't just a social call.

"Get out." Her voice was cold and firm. "Or I'll toss you through the window." Words she never would have said to an elder were flowing effortlessly from her lips, fueled by the rage and betrayal emitting from her heart and soul. "That goes for the rest of you." She gestured her wand to Narcissa, Bellatrix, and two other Death Eaters she didn't recognize.

Voldemort sat at the end table, his eyes unreadable as he watched her. The other followers looked at him for a moment before he waved his hand, his eyes amused. One of the unknown Death Eaters, a burly man Hermione didn't recognize, was mumbling under his breathe.

"Stupid child...trying to order me about."

A large crash, and the man was gone. Hermione idly wondered how severe his injuries would be after being tossed from the second floor. The doors were shut behind the fleeing followers before she turned her eyes to the man of the hour. He snapped his fingers and Hermione felt the thick tell-tale signs of a silencing barrier around the room. She had respected his authority to wait until his followers had left the room, but she was sure even he knew she would not be able to maintain a level head.

Her eyes fell on the table where Lucius Malfoy had sat, her original goal and point laid out in its' full glory. Snatching it up, she strode up to Voldemort, her fury renewed after slamming it down in front of him.

"What the hell is this?"

 ** _Brightest Witch of Her Age: Ravenclaw's lost Heir? Read all about the lies and manipulations of Albus Dumbledore and how he nearly killed this innocent girl!_**

"A smear campaign." Voldemort said, the smugness in his tone apparent. "To show the Wizarding World that they were wrong about their beloved Headmaster. "

"No doubt to turn it into a sympathy scheme to glorify the ideology of the Death Eaters?"

"Precisely. Exactly how did you think you were going to return to a normal life? Hide away, so that the world would never know of Dumbledore's crimes? Do you think me foolish enough to not take advantage of what Dumbledore's betrayal would do to the Wizarding World's confidence in anything he used to advocate for?"

"Not at my expense," she hissed at him, eyes flaring. "When I consented to you helping me, stabbing me in the back after Dumbledore did is not what I had in mind!"

Voldemort stood, his robes billowing as he came to a halt in front of the angry brunette. His red eyes glaring, his pale skin stark against the pitch-black robes he always seemed to wear. "You need to start realizing, little woman, that I am the Master here. I have overlooked your outbursts before, but I won't tolerate it interfering with my plans."

"And I won't tolerate infuriating Dark Lords who think they can make my decisions for me!" She hissed back and, to both of their surprise, flung her magic at him. He appeared on the other side of the room. She moved the furniture in the middle of the room to the side, rapidly flinging every curse she knew in his direction. With every one that he blocked, her rage grew.

"Sectumsempra!"

She saw his eyes narrow at the dark slicing curse that hurled at him before a whirl of his cloak later, he avoided it and began cursing back. She had to admit, she was strong. But she'd been anticipating this battle the moment she saw Ginny's letter, and the refreshed feeling of betrayal ripped through her once more, spurring her rage further.

He whipped a tail of water at her, turning their duel into a dance as she dodged and fired spells back at him. He kept using the water to block and redirect the spells before using it offensively against her. He was playing with her, she realized, before she quickly twisted her wrist into releasing a curse Moody had taught her in secret. The Wind-Howling curse. A twister of pulsating wind enveloped around the space Voldemort was standing in, and Hermione began flooding the tornado with multiple spells, using her right hand to maintain the wind from destroying the room completely while trapping Voldemort within: you couldn't apperate out of it.

Slamming her hands together, fingers pointed at him, her raven shot forward, taking the form of glass that began spewing shards into the vortex. She could see his dark form moving, combating her spells with skill. Her eyes focused on her target, she pulled her magic as a cover when the twisters' winds were violently pushed back, the glass raven destroyed in the resulting dissipation. She looked up to see a spinning flame rushing towards her, her wand curling and swishing to use the wind to push it.

The resulting combination when the two elements met was a simultaneous explosion that launched Hermione back. She used the wind to prevent her from slamming completely against the wall, which she now had her back to, but she still felt the whiplash of the collision. Stunned for a moment, her eyes looked up just in time to see a fireball head straight for her. She pushed a quick shield up, but felt something push past it. The next thing she knew, she was up against the wall, a body pinning her against it forcefully, and her wrists pinned together by one large pale hand.

Red eyes met defiance.

The magic in the room died down as the completion of their duel spelled Hermione's defeat.

Voldemort's leg was bent, trapping her right side from moving away, his left foot positioned in between both of hers, and he was using his leg to ensure she couldn't move. His long, pale right hand was raised above her head, her wrist held bound against the wall. By sheer strength alone, she could not pull free, and instead opted to glare at him, her breathing slowing down to normal levels as they both recovered from their duel.

"Did you honestly think, Miss Selwyn, that you could beat me in a duel?" His tone was deadly calm, with a touch of amusement.

"No." she admitted, her eyes just as dangerous as her tone.

"Then what was the purpose of testing me?"

"It wasn't a test." She hissed quietly at him, their faces a mere inch apart. "It was a message. If you think I will fall in line to kiss your arse, you should rethink tutoring me."

He leaned his head forward, his tall stature towering over her small form. Hermione was forced to remind herself how physically smaller and weaker she was in comparison to him as what felt to be a firmly muscled chest placed itself against hers. His mouth was very close to her ear, she could almost hear him breathing.

"You belong to me, Hermione." He breathed, his voice smooth and silky in her ear. "You will never be able to defy me even f you wanted to."

"Is that a challenge?" She murmured back, her eyebrows raised in defiance. "I am a Gryffindor. I am owned by no one."

"Did you forget your debt to me?" His voice was amused, and Hermione became painfully aware of just how close and how intimate their positioning was at that moment. "Did you forget that you owe me not one, but two life debts?"

Life debts were magically bound. This wasn't some "I'll pay you back when I get the chance." and then never pay them back, it was an obligation. He could bind her magic until she fulfilled whatever it was that he wanted her to do to eliminate the life debt. Hermione's heart sank, but her head reminded her of her true purpose.

"Did you not forget? Was it not you who taught me that we are superior? If you think I will lay back and take backstabbing, you will be sorely disappointed." She moved her head to the right, and Voldemort took his opportunity to move his face closer to her neck. She could feel the ghost feelings of his lips make his way upwards, before he paused at her ear once more.

"I would be disappointed if you lost your bite," he was smirking now. "But before you try to kill me again, you may want to reconsider what I may want from _you_." And with that, the room was righted and he was gone, the heat from his body absent startled Hermione out of her revere.

A letter lay forgotten on the the dining table and a pale hand snatched it up to see what exactly had enraged his new acquisition.

 _Hermione,_

 _Don't play stupid. We all know about your little adventure to go join the Death Eaters. How could you betray us like this? The entire Prophet is spewing out little details of your story, and almost all of us are wondering what we did to make you want to spread lies like this? Is it because of Ron, is that why? You want to get back at the Order because of your falling out with Ron? Is this to get back at Dumbledore for what happened to Harry? Because I know Professor Dumbledore would never have done any of this nonsense. I can't believe you Hermione, and then to go and lie to me and pretend that we don't know what's happening! The whole bloody Wizarding World knows what you did in the past month!_

 _My Dad just got fired because everyone knows he was Dumbledore's friend, and they're starting to revoke all of Dumbledore's recognition and achievements from the books because of what you have done! After everything the Order has done for you, after everything my family has done to make you feel welcome, how dare you spit in our faces like this? Were you a spy all along, luring the light side to their deaths by pretending to be this genius muggleborn innocent? It all make sense now, and we all see you for what you really are you conniving bitch._

 _You can have fun being a Death Eater's whore, you traitor. You're no longer welcomed among us. Have fun with your new 'Lord', Hermione Selwyn._

 _Ginny._

The smirk deepened into a full grin. Yes, things were definitely falling exactly the way he expect them to be. Now it was only a matter of time before he came to collect on what was rightfully his, and soon the Wizarding World would follow suit. Sitting back in his chair, he stared out the window overseeing a vast lake as the sunset, and felt the power of the world sitting on his shoulders.

It was absolutely invigorating.

 **Well, what do you think? :D Read, Review, love me, hate me, say what you want-wait, song lyrics sorry. Next chapter should be pretty interesting.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I love that the reviews are getting more detailed, I love hearing about your opinions and assumptions, and look forward to seeing your reactions when I post more! To answer a couple questions, I am an International Affairs Major, which is with the college of social sciences. I've always entertained the idea of the technicalities behind magic. There's so much more behind just saying words and brandishing a stick. Additionally, I want to clarify, this will NOT be a Voldemort becomes Light or whatever story. I have absolutely no intention of it being that way, as that is too OOC for me.**

 **Warning: Hurt, Bigotry, mature scenes, conflict.**

 **Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns, me play.**

* * *

Hermione was arranging her hair around her face to accommodate the hood that would no doubt be useful in hiding her identity. Dressed in a button-up collared white blouse that was tucked into a high waist gray slacks that came to her ankles, Hermione pulled up her black cloak to cover her figure whilst also pulling on her mid-calf black boots, tucking in her pants for practicality purposes. The emergence of her magic had greatly sped up her growth, though she was disgruntled to realize her physical height would not change, her hair had definitely taken an improvement. The length had increased to just past her bust, and the weight had allowed her crazier curls to be weighted down to look like ringlets than perm-induced curls. Though with all this preparation, she had no clue what would happen today.

Hermione did not like the unknown.

She couldn't go to Ginny. Ginny would act irrationally, her temperament worsened after the death of Harry, and Hermione knew she'd never would be able to get her side of the story out to any of the Weasleys as a result. She refused to let that fact bother her; this wouldn't be the first time they chose the Press's word over hers.

The half moon was out and bright this night, illuminating the beautiful expanses the Malfoy's owned, but Hermione had no time to admire them. It had to be a clean getaway and done quietly. At 2 o'clock in the morning, she was nothing but wide awake and ready to see the extent of Voldemort's meddling and the damage it caused. She grabbed her new beaded bag, an undetectable extension charm holding essential potions and a portkey, should anything go wrong. Hermione was giving them the benefit of the doubt.

She cracked open the window, looking down from the second floor. _After all these years,_ Hermione thought nauseously to herself, _and I still can't stand heights_. Taking a deep breath and focusing her magic at a minuscule level, she stepped out of the window as if she were walking on a path and felt her body drop. With the magic focused directly below her, it was a simple buffer – a cushy pillow – to land gently on the ground, the magic cradling her safely. A small giggle escaped her lips, no doubt the combination of what was akin to a trust fall and a successful magical experiment contributing to her elation.

Righting herself, she looked around the intricate garden before walking through the maze the Malfoy family had ineptly decided just _had_ to go in their front lawn. Taking the stone path was unacceptable, and she couldn't apperate through wards yet without shredding them apart, and that kind of departure wasn't going to work for her. She saw the entirety of the maze from her bedroom window, and already knew exactly which turns she needed to take before reaching the end. Soft grass shuffled lightly underneath her gentle footsteps, the breeze lightly swaying her cloak and whispering good tidings in her ears. With her magic, Hermione's senses were so much more alert, and now the possibilities of the trees speaking to her became plausible.

She'd made it through the maze with relative ease, smiling to herself at the success before turning toward the gate and exiting down the familiar stone pathway. A pulling tug at her core, however, gave her pause. She'd only taken four or five steps out of the gate, and her heart fell at the dark cloaked figure who was leaning against the stone pillar by the opened gate leisurely. She huffed, her eyes narrowing.

"I need to do this."

"You don't. You owe them nothing."

"I owe them everything." Eyes defiant.

"Really? Tell me, where were they after you graduate from Hogwarts? Did they keep contact? Did they even care how you were doing?" His voice was calm and smooth, the same tone he used whenever he thought he was right. Hermione's heart turned bitter: it seemed ninety-five percent of the time, he was right about her friends. His face turned into a sneer. "Did they ever thank you for everything you did for them? Your strategies? The fact that you practically taught their ungrateful, bratty children magic they should have taken upon themselves to learn?"

"It isn't about that. I did those things because I wanted to." Lies. Harry had asked her to. "They were all I had in the Wizarding world at one point. They appreciate and love me." Did they? Hermione shoved down the brewing thoughts of doubt etching itself within her mind. Some of them had their faults, she admitted, but it wasn't like they still didn't love her. Once they heard her side of the story, they would understand. Maybe they'd stop believing everything the press told them. Bitterness pulled her away from her thoughts as she turned back towards the apperation point before walking smack into a barrier.

"I do not have to let you go, Hermione." The silky, dangerous voice was back, and she knew without turning around that he was right behind her. A pale hand rested on her shoulder, and her body tensed at the contact. "We both may be equal in magical power, but I have studied and practice magic more powerful than you can imagine."

"So you're going to force me to stay?" She seethed, her hands clenching into fists. She gave Draco Malfoy a broken nose in her third year, and idly wondered if Voldemort's perfect nose would snap just as easily. The hand on her shoulder tightened before she remembered that he could read her thoughts.

"As easily as it would be for me to keep you here," his voice was tight, laced with irritation that left a smug feeling in Hermione. "Your Gryffindor tendencies will prove detrimental to your training. So go to your little friends." The hand released her, and she turned to see him walk back up the gate, his robes gently swaying in tune with hers in the breeze.

"But if I am right, you will return here. You will not enjoy it if I have to come find you. If you are right, you are free of one of the life debts you owe me."

Dangerous, with the threat loud and clear, so she nodded. It would be nice to eliminate the life debt she owed him, even having one with him was bad enough, but two was nearly unbearable. She had to choose wisely whom she told her side of the story to. With a clear image in mind of who she wanted, she turned on the spot, the vacuuming force of the apperation whisking her off to her destination. In her focus, she missed the sinister smirk that graced the face of the Dark Lord.

The woods were silent at this time of night, but Hermione paid it no mind. The half-moon was a clear indication that where she was headed, she'd meet no creatures she didn't intend to meet on her way down. The cottage had been beautiful when she had first seen it. Small, tiny flowers dotted the narrow concrete path to a one-story cottage with a rugged red door, the grass in the small yard needing a small trim. The cottage was primarily stone, but Hermione knew and could feel the magic within every stone that was set to hold together and protect the inhabitants. While it didn't look it, she knew the basement was warded stronger than the house itself.

Clutching the diary and Dumbledore's note in her hands, she slowly made her way towards the tiny home, hope heavy in her heart. A snap to her left, and from the side she could see the crooked wand pointed straight at her temple.

"Tonks," she began cautiously.

"How lovely for the traitor to show her face at my doorstep." The Auror had her hair at blood red, her eyes narrowed in blackened fury. Stifling a sigh, she tried to speak once more.

"Tonks, there's more to it-"

"You're not going to poison me with your lies!" She snapped. "The whole world is smearing Dumbledore's name, and it's because of you!" A curse was on the tip of her lips, and Hermione felt her temper flare. Watching Tonk's wand fly backward into the bushes, she turned towards the enraged woman with her hands extended, holding out the paper. Summoning her wand back, Hermione handed it to the now baffled woman.

"I'm not here to fight you." She said firmly, her desperate eyes not leaving hers. "But there's also my side of the story too. I come in peace."

"You-"

"Tonks, that's enough."

Graying and aged Remus Lupin had finally made an appearance. He looked well, despite it not being that far off from the full moon, and he in his arms was the tiny two year old Teddy Lupin, whose hair was a wild orange. He giggled when he looked at Hermione, who returned it with a wide smile.

"Remus..." He shook his head and jerked his chin towards the door. "Kitchen. I have heard enough Press lies in my life to know there is always an explanation behind these things."

Ignoring Tonk's furious look at the both of them, Remus led the way inside, Hermione right behind him. She kept a close eye at Tonk's magic, knowing that if the witch tries to strike her from behind, she'd be able to block it. She hadn't anticipated her hostility, and her heart sank slightly at the possibility that these revelations may not be taken well. They sat down at the small table, Remus leaving Teddy to play in the living room while she slid across the diary towards him.

"This really started when the Minister said Dumbledore left me a briefcase in his Will." She said softly, not meeting the stern gaze of Tonks. "I had started to feel ill that day. Just what I thought was a stomach bug." Her eyes stared at Remus as he first read Dumbledore's letter to her before passing it off to Tonks. His complexion paled significantly at the end of reading, and even further as he reached the last message within the diary. She slid the remaining documents towards him, watching both he and Tonks go through her birth certificate, the pictures, the tapestry, and everything else Hermione had been dying to give to them.

"...Reseal your magic?" The werewolf paused, looking up at Hermione with confusion. "What does he mean by that?"

Waiting for that very question, Hermione gently flooded the room with the raven, watching it fly around her in graceful swoops, smiling, even, when it began to play with little Teddy on the floor, even as the toddler pat its' beak a little too hard. Her eyes turned back to the two parents, their eyes wide with shock. "Dumbledore sealed away my magic from me when I was little. He kept resealing it every year on my birthday." She said quietly. "So when he died.."

"The magic flooded back to you!" gasped Tonks, her eyes nearly comical with disbelief. "So how are you still alive? The sheer stretching of your magical core should have killed you, let alone the inability to control the magic from tearing you apart!"

Discomfort spread to Hermione, and something must have revealed so because Remus was peering at her with a near horror.

"You went to You-Know-Who, didn't you?"

Blinking away tears at his monotone voice, she nodded, her voice choked and full of complete shame at what she had done. "I was so afraid, Remus. I didn't want to go. But he was the only one who could save me. No one else has Dumbledore's level of magical power except him. I couldn't be brave and face death." She swallowed a sob, looking down at her hands that were resting in her lap.

"What did he do?" He was looking intensely at her, his tone serious.

"He saved my life. Twice." She waved off his next question. "Yes, I owe him two life debts, neither of which he has specified on what I need to do to get rid of them."

Concern was evident in his eyes as he looked at his wife. Tonks herself looked conflicted, wanting to be angry at Hermione for turning to the other side for help but also wanting to be there for her because of Dumbledore's betrayal. Then the Metamorphmagus' gaze narrowed again. "How is it you owe him your life twice? Wasn't saving you from the magic the only thing he did?"

Hermione shook her head, nervous about what she would reveal. "Dumbledore...placed a compulsion on me." At her gasp, she looked imploringly at them both. "I verified it myself that it was him, so that Vold—You-Know-Who wasn't trying to trick me. He played on my fears, and I nearly killed myself because my body and mind were being compulsed to try to reseal my magic away."

"I'm assuming that means he has been teaching you how to control your magic." It wasn't a question in Remus' voice, his tone completely in thought.

"Yes," she admitted. "For what purpose, I do not know. For whatever reason, he wants me alive and well. I actually dueled him." Tonks spat out her tea across the table.

"You did WHAT?"

Looking sheepish, Hermione smirked. "I won't brag, because I did lose. But I wrote to Ginny to try to see if I could arrange to meet her to explain what was going on. I hadn't known about this smear campaign going on until I got her...reply..back." Remus looked up at Hermione's tight, near infuriated tone her voice took. "I hadn't had access to the press for some time. If there was anyone behind that story, I'm afraid their source is not me."

"So Dumbledore really did try to kill you..." Remus' face was riddled with disbelief and sadness towards his old mentor.

"But he was doing it for her own good!" Tonks implored, hastily adding at their outraged looks simultaneously focused on her. "You had powerful magic, Hermione, and no offense, but your vengeance streak is legendary even when you were at your average magic level. Dumbledore must have seen it and was protecting you and everyone else." Hermione felt her heart recoil at Tonks' defense for the treacherous former headmaster.

"It was never about vengeance." She bit out. "It was always about justice."

"Yeah, that's what anyone who tries to justify doing evil to others says."

"Enough, Tonks." Remus kept a wary eye on her, and Hermione felt her heart sink further at the caution now directed at her. Was she no longer trusted because of Dumbledore's supposed safeguards over her own magic? How were they justifying this in their heads? She could feel the bubbling bitterness and hurt underneath her rapidly draining hope-filled heart. Swallowing, she looked at both of them imploringly. "Do you believe me?"

"I believe you." Remus said, and her heart never had the chance to be hopeful again when he added. "But I agree with Tonks. Dumbledore must have had a reason. You should have resealed your magic than to turn to You-Know-Who. Now you are a liability to the Order, a traitor for accepting his help and working with him, and allowing him this information to be revealed to the world has turned every witch and wizard against Muggles and Muggle culture."

"What do you mean?" Hermione's voice was sharp and emotionless. She would mourn over Remus' words later.

"Anything, from fashion to toys, that are muggle are banned from being sold." Remus informed her, sipping his coffee. "There's even talk of legislation that take Muggleborns under the power of the state at an early age to avoid indoctrination of muggle culture in their brains before they go to Hogwarts."

"They've got this idea that everything Dumbledore advocated for was wrong, especially if he was willing to do more damage to a magical person for the sake of his cause than to a muggle." Tonks pipped in, her eyes on Teddy as he toddled around with his toys. "There's even talk in the Ministry of giving muggleborns a choice between staying and contributing to the magical community, or snapping their wands, obliviating them, and sending them out into the muggle world. Everyone is completely on edge."

"The Order is also considered a terrorist group now." Hermione's face paled at his statement, Remus' face serious and mournful. "We had to disband for the safety of the children. Anyone meeting under the Order's banner, so to speak, will be tossed into Azkaban."

* * *

Hermione stood up. They'd been there for nearly three hours, and with each passing moment she felt her chances at regaining her friends slipping away slowly but surely. Teddy was sound asleep on the couch, a stuffed pygmy puff clung close to his face, and his hair, a calming blue. After their conversation, Hermione could say nothing more to them.

"I guess I'll be going then," she sighed, pausing when two wands were pointed straight at her chest.

"Now Hermione," Remus began cautiously when her eyes flared up at him in shock. "You are obviously something You-Know-Who wants. If we can bargain with him your life, we could insure that the Order's members are not harmed in the future." Hermione backed away slowly from them, her face impassive, but her heart was burning. Tonks had put herself between Hermione and Teddy, and the love she felt for the couple began burning like a short wicked candle.

"And if he doesn't want to bargain, we can do what Dumbledore wanted." She shrugged. "It's obvious you couldn't be trusted to do the right thing. Maybe your real self will come back after some humility and magic-sealing is all said and done." And the candle was blown out. She flung her magic at them, watching them collide with the wall, before turning on her toes and out the door before they could grab their wands. Passing the tiny wooden gate, she turned on her feet and reappeared in a heap on the ground several feet away from the beginning of the stone path towards Malfoy Manor.

The sobs bubbled up through her chest, and she tried, in vain, to slow them, stop them so she could maintain her sanity. But she felt her world crumble beneath her, and the tears began. Flowing down her soft cheeks, the caramel eyes reflected all the hurt, pain, and anguish she'd plugged in her heart since she had arrived here. Her curls askew, eyes red, and heart aching, she picked herself up from the ground and began her slow funeral march up to the manor, every step a memory and piece of her love dropping to the ground.

Step. _"Hermione, we couldn't have done it without you."_ Ron.

Step. _"Hermione, that was absolutely brilliant!"_ Ginny.

Step. _"You truly are the brightest witch of your age."_ Remus

Step. _"You'll always be welcomed here, deary!"_ The Weasleys.

With every step, her heart was breaking. They were supposed to be the the good guys, the symbol of everything light and moral. Champions of justice. Perhaps it was naive to think that there could be people immune to corruption, but Remus? Sweet, wise Remus? If he was beyond convincing, the others would be out of her reach permanently.

And now she still owed Voldemort two life debts.

She was approaching the gate, her eyes avoiding the dark figure that awaited her at the top. She knew he'd be waiting for her; he could probably sense her magic the moment she was within reasonable distance of the Manor. Downcast eyes, she stopped a mere foot away from him, waiting for the taunts and 'I told you so'. The forest rustled in the wind, leaves swirling along the pathway and dancing away from their feet. There was probably a repelling charm on the path and around the yard: the Malfoys would be insulted if a stray leaf was found roaming their pristine garden.

"This must be a victory for you," she murmured, wiping away a tear. "Little vulnerable lost Ravenclaw heir comes crawling back to admit you were right." She finished bitterly, staring at the signet ring her mother left her with pent up frustration.

"While I do entertain being proven correct, I do not relish in suffering." Voldemort said quietly, resting a hand on her shoulder and tilting her chin upward to meet her eyes. "Like you, the press has always been fond of portraying me as a Dark Lord who enjoys inflicting pain. Pain is simple, and to use it as a first hand weapon is a sign of ignorant brutality. Pain is a tool used to teach a lesson, nothing more.

"This world is full of corruption. Our world is divided so much, family turns upon family." He gestured to her as she blinked away a tear, hating the fact that she looked so weak and pitiful in front of him. "It is not suffering I relish in, but control and power. And I can accomplish both without the use of the first." His eyes were cold and harsh, but she could feel the truth. It would definitely explain why the Death Eaters hadn't begun slaughtering muggles the moment Dumbledore and Harry had died. The Ministry was already infiltrated, and the introduction of what Dumbledore had done to her was effectively following through with his plans of eradicating muggle influence in the world. But...

"I don't know what to do anymore." She whispered in the wind, their magic resuming its' invisible dance due to their proximity. She started as a different sort of pale hand reached out to her, a woman's hand. Narcissa Malfoy had been standing behind Voldemort at a distance, and at his gesture, appeared before Hermione with a small, sad smile. Looking at her Lord for his nod, she spoke.

"You still have the family you've never met. A world that you never got to experience." She said softly, her gray eyes so much like her sons. "We could teach you. Who knows what you can discover with the knowledge we posses?" Hermione exchanged a small smile with the woman, the hurt alleviating but still strong in her heart. Being a Pureblood was apparently her heritage. While being one didn't really seem to matter to her, she wasn't idiotic enough to not take advantage of the experiences a Pureblood witch, let alone an heir, got to experience. A memory dropped from her soul, and as it fluttered across her psyche, she grabbed a hold of it, and tucked it within her heart.

 _"Never change Hermione. Even if the world is gonna end."_ Harry.

She was dressed in a pretty, sleeveless royal blue evening dress, hair arranged fall and shape her face and eyes while trailing down her back. The dress itself was almost unreal to Hermione, as about mid thigh it turned into a feathery material of black and blue, almost like her infamous bluebell flames she'd conjure on a regular basis with a sweetheart neckline that began with a plethora of silvery jewels that faded as it extended past her waist. The black diamond earrings were both in the shape of a raven taking flight, and a necklace around her neck was the same one gifted to her by Voldemort several weeks ago when they first began her training. Casting a balancing charm on her suede blue, thick and tall heeled shoes, which would feel as though she were walking in her flats, she slipped them on delicately before righting herself. She took a deep breath, jolting when a firm knock rapped on her door.

Leaving her wand in her room, she made her way to the door, opening it to reveal an abashed Draco Malfoy dressed in a three piece jet black suit. Despite the heels giving her a good 3 inches Malfoy still towered over her, and if she had to guess, he was about 6'2 in height. Blushing when she noticed his eyes giving her a once over, she cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows at him. Smirking at getting caught, he held out his arm for her to take as they made their way down the hallway.

"So, what exactly do I do?" She whispered to him as they walked, no, glided down the hallway. The dress made her feel like a gossamer in the wind, the wispy arrangement that made up the bottom of her dress creating a near graceful and elegant feel against her legs as she walked. She could feel his chuckle against her arm and poke him with her magic slightly.

"You worry too much, Miss Selwyn." He grumbled, his voice having dropped an octave to whisper to her. "You merely need to step forward when your name is called and dance with every suitor that approaches you. Yes, you can reject, but try to do it..not Gryffindor like." She narrowed her eyes at him, her sparkling blue eye-shadow glimmering in the passing moonlight. Narcissa Malfoy had practically dragged her up to her rooms to prepare for Hermione's formal debut party in which the entire aristocracy had been invited to attend. Since her betrayal at the hands of the Order two weeks prior, Hermione had been gaining knowledge of this new world to her from both Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, with the occasional help from Lucius, who still didn't know what to make of the situation.

After battling with the Malfoy matriarch, she had finally given in into being decorated with black eyeliner, royal, dark blue eye-shadow, and black lipstick that contrasted sharply against her skin that Hermione, who was used to wearing lighter colors, found very beautiful. Her dark brunette hair was a tumble of curls down her back, a beautiful replica of Ravenclaw's diadem peppered with blue and black jewels woven within atop her head. She felt like a queen; Draco told her she looked a such.

They reached the double doors, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy waiting next to Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, all equally dressed in lavish and elegant dress. The men were simple enough in their suits and robes, but Narcissa had decked herself in Slytherin green attire while Bellatrix maintained her Gothic black and intimidating sleekness. Hermione had to hazard an assumption that her curls came from the Black family, if Bellatrix and her hair's similarities had any explanation. With a small smile, Hermione respectfully nodded her head towards the adults, accepting Bellatrix's surprising gently hug with a less-tense one in return. Getting use to Bellatrix's new friendly attitude was going to take some work, and even then, the damage Azkaban did to her sanity would never fully heal. Around family, Hermione had noticed that the woman did not seem insane at all, in fact, she had been one of the best teachers for etiquette and dancing. It was only within the presence of those outside the family and anyone she thought below her did Bellatrix assume her dangerous demeanor.

So was it insanity or was it controlling others' perspective of her? She shelved the idea for another time and discussion.

Lucius led Narcissa out of the doors, the air around them positively _oozing_ a superiority complex dashed with upper class mannerisms. There was a loud applause for the couple as then the Lestrange couple walked out regally behind them. Hermione turned to Draco, an hear focusing out the door to make sure they didn't miss their cue.

"If you escort me out, they're not going to assume that we're..." she gestured between the two of them. Malfoy shook his head, rolling his eyes.

"Gran—sorry, Hermione, we're cousins. Some family's have inbreeding problems, but the Malfoy's aren't one of them. They all know this. And you will too." He said with finality, leading her forward as their cue emerged.

"And now I present," it was Lucius Malfoy, his voice amplified for the whole audience to hear as he stood at the base of the stairs. "Miss Hermione Rosemary Selwyn, daughter of Alphard Black and Rosemary Selwyn, last of the beloved Selwyn family, and Heir of Rowena Ravenclaw."

Polite and loud applause erupted from the three hundred or so crowd of people gathered in the illustrious ballroom. Beautiful magical art danced around on the ceiling where an enormous crystal chandelier that looked to be made of a thousand crystals sparkled light above. The marble floor was smooth and polished, and not one person attending would ever forget the extravagant debutante celebration Narcissa Malfoy had decorated to reflect Hermione's Ravenclaw and upper class status.

It was Draco who led her to the dance floor as they twirled around. Hours upon hours of dance classes on top of the threat of locking the library away from her should she not put the appropriate amount of effort into learning how to waltz perfectly had given her the confidence to not step on his toes. After being approached and dancing with Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and several other males of which she hadn't met, she excused herself to have Draco grab her a drink. As her escort for the night, it was his assigned task to watch her and get her everything she needed. The party was, after all, all about her. Cooling down with the occasional sipping of wine, she looked up when the room began applauding.

 _Had to make an entrance,_ she thought amusingly to herself, watching as Lord Voldemort glided in the room. In a stunning three piece suit dress robes, his black hair smooth, dark, and his demeanor radiating confidence from his dangerous red eyes, he was, without a doubt, the most charming Dark Lord she'd ever seen. But personal time with him knew better. Voldemort was never anywhere without a purpose, and she doubt he came here to chat.

He extended bowed at her, startling her from her assessment, before she lowered her head and dipped into a curtsy back, effortlessly executed on her part. He raised his hand to her, watching from the corner of his eye as the orchestra began the waltz. She glided to him, and together, the Dark Lord Voldemort and Hermione Selwyn began their dance. Feeling all eyes on her, she stared at his chest, feeling their magic harmonize. It must have become visible for their audience, because she could hear the crowd gasp and she could almost _feel_ his smirk at the display of power. He bent his head down towards her ear.

"You still haven't asked me what I want, Hermione."

She stiffened slightly, continuing to dance with him as the mutterings around them continued en mass. He was coming to collect on one, or even both, of her life debts now? What cards would he pull on her now?

"I am a Dark Lord," He murmured, twirling them around the ballroom gracefully. "I am the last of my family line. A noble line that should never die out. Similar to yours. I have not, within all my years of studying and research, met anyone who could match either my power or my intelligence, let alone a woman."

 _Oh no._ Hermione's heart began racing at the direction their conversation was turning. He could not seriously be considering what she thought he was considering. She felt his chuckle vibrate his chest, and she stifled a gasp. "You cannot seriously-"

"I need heirs." He said plainly, the smirk still evident as he twirled her again before holding her close to dance. "I need a challenge. I need a woman who will not meekly do my bidding without question, but have the strength and the will to call out a flaw at the proper time." It would be flattering, she thought in her head, if it wasn't Voldemort, the darkest man in the world, saying it to her.

He leaned forward as their dance began to conclude. "Marry me, Hermione Selwyn, and bear me my heirs. You could be the queen of a new age of Wizard Kind. Anything you wished, could be yours, and your life debts to me would be fulfilled. Give yourself to me, and the world will be at our feet."

 **So? What do you think? I'm hoping people are understanding why Voldemort hasn't tortured the unholy hell out of her or murdered people in front of her, especially after what he said mid-chapter. I look forward to hopefully seeing everyone guess what will happen later on in their reviews! Read, review, and like, it fuels my dark soul.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Well, the explosive reactions and lengthy reviews I've gotten have really been great. I know some of you were expecting Luna, and I promise you, Luna may make an entrance later on, but she serves an alternative purpose for Hermione beyond Hermione's desire to have the Order accept the situation for what it is. You'll just have to wait and see!**

 **I will also clarify this as well: Voldemort, in this fiction, is neither a psychopathic murder nor is he a misunderstood, high moral good guy who has been painted mistakenly. He is still a Dark Lord. His form of darkness resides with the traits of his house: cunning and self-preserving. Some of you think that what he did in the last chapter was OOC: yes, if we're referring to J.K. Rowling's murderous Voldemort, it was. But out of character for a true Slytherin? Ask yourselves that, and then reread the story.**

 **IMPORTANT:** **If you are experiencing difficulties viewing any chapter, such as it disappearing, please screenshot it and report it to** **support. Be sure to check to see when I posted it. If it is within 30 minutes of when I have posted the chapter, then wait, it may be a delay. But an hour or so, please feel free to let them know about it. I have yet to take down a chapter. **

**Now then, on to the story!**

 **Warnings: Mature, bigotry, anxiety, triggering scenes and possible sexism.**

 **Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling missed a huge opportunity not pairing Hermione with someone more clever than Ron.**

* * *

"You need to _focus!_ "

A shuddered breathe forced itself out from her lungs as she feebly blocked the next curse he had flung at her. Her effort was minimal that day, and she knew he could tell. It was probably why his eyes kept flashing. It wasn't until a slicing hex slipped through her measly defenses and sliced her arm that she narrowed her eyes. But even in her irritation over the cut, the blast was at least a foot from him, shattering the glass vase that had been repaired numerous times in the past two months. It had been a week ago that she'd danced the night away at her debutante ball, where the Darkest and most Powerful Wizard in the world practically proposed to her, effectively creating the belief in her soul that there could be absolutely be nothing more surprising than that.

Her eyes refocused to see the stunner hit her head on, slamming her against the wall. She remained pinned there by his magic, her arms bent at the elbows upwards and pinned to the wall. He strode up to her, his irritation apparent as he shot a quick spell to begin cleaning up the damage they'd inflicted. It was no where near to what they usually get to, and it was a silent testament to how much Hermione had not paid attention. Slamming his hands on the opposites sides of her head, he stared at her, ensuring that he was the only thing she could focus on.

"I do not know where your mind has decided to float off to today," he hissed at her, hair ruffled by the whipping of his magic. "But I suggest you take today to find it and firmly affix it back into your head before tomorrow's training, or I will burn your copy of _Hogwarts: A History_."

She gasped and narrowed her eyes at him. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Try me. I may have given you much to think about, but do not allow it to cloud and block your capabilities to train with your magic. Even missing-"

"...one day could lead to my magic overloading within my body, causing me to undo my healing within my core and possibly harming others." She finished for him, sneering at his face as he narrowed his eyes at her. "I am just having an off day, now before you say anything," she added, noticing his slight outrage. "I'm not you. I haven't had years to dedicate myself to magic to where I can comfortably use it at such high levels every day, several times a day. That's why you're training me. This constant use of magic on top of the fact that I am _still_ healing from the damage Dumbledore gave me exhausts me to the point where I have absolutely no time to consider anything you've told me, nor review what I have learned to apply it in a thoughtful, constructive manner towards my future magical training!" She breathed in heavily, her nostrils flaring from the exertion of her speech. Slowly, Voldemort's magic released her as her feet found the floor once more, but his proximity to her remained.

"I had not considered that," he murmured, his gaze holding a measured, mixed amount of irritation and thoughtfulness. "I had begun practicing my magic young, before Hogwarts. It was out of necessity, really. You did not have that need, that benefit." His considering looks at her made her shift slightly in discomfort, the combination of his stare and how close he was to her more noticeable.

"Nevertheless, stop using genuine excuses to hide the real reason as to why your performance is less than optimal today."

Then he was gone, the door smoothly gliding to a shut as he left the room, leaving her leaning against the wall fuming. She changed out of her clothing and stepped lightly in the bathtub, Dusty having prepared it while she was picking out her clothes for the day and changing out of her own sweaty clothing. The water was hot, but after submerging her body into its' scalding waters, she felt her muscles relax: Voldemort had a potion to add to the bath that helped her magical channels open up more to allow her magic to heal. She had begun to wonder, at first, why he had been gifting her all the things she currently had, but dismissed it as courting. He had to know that material excess wasn't going to sway her, but had to admit that he was definitely investing a lot of time, training, and effort.

He was grooming her.

Because Voldemort knew she'd accept his proposal.

But why would she? She dunked her head backwards into the water, gently lathering her hair with potions that would tame her wilder curls after it dried. Muggle shampoos and conditioners were simply not an option in a Pureblood household. Voldemort always got what he wanted, but what if she didn't want him? She tossed that thought away: of course she didn't _want_ him. But the thought settled uneasily in her soul. People married for love. Not power, not money. Voldemort did not love.

But in this new Pureblood society she was in, would she ever get to marry for love?

She closed her eyes as her heart sank. _"I keep thinking things will go the way a Gryffindor will plan it."_ She thought quietly to herself. But she wasn't surrounded by Gryffindors, nor with people who had an inkling of Gryffindor ideology. This was an elite society, one that clung to tradition, wealth, and power and the ability to maintain all three with a prestigious bloodline was more desired than love or contentment. Or, perhaps, acquiring those things simulated those emotions.

She pulled herself away from the warm bath, using a cooling air charm to simulate a blow dryer for her hair; heat made it frizz, but the cold allowed it to maintain its' wavy ringlets. Pulling on a beautiful day gown, this one being a simple green (she'd rolled her eyes when Narcissa had insisted green was a beautiful color on her) and slipped on some black shoes with a small heel. Her hair was definitely getting longer, the longest strands reaching her mid back, but when she had suggested it out loud, Bellatrix, surprisingly, interceded, and insisted it was a daring look for her, and accentuated her beauty. Her world was definitely out of wack if she was taking fashion advice from Bellatrix Lestrange. As she walked out her door, with the intent of taking a relaxing walk in Narcissa's beautiful back gardens, her mind wandered to that night.

 _"Marry me, Hermione Selwyn, and bear me my heirs. You could be the queen of a new age of Wizard Kind. Anything you wished, could be yours, and your life debts to me would be fulfilled. Give yourself to me, and the world will be at our feet."_

 _Her heart had completely stopped. Voldemort was...proposing to her? She stared into his unforgiving eyes, mouth parted in shock, words unable to emit exactly what she was feeling at that moment. But Voldemort wasn't a moron, as much as she wished he was, and whisked them away, maintaining their dance, and escorted her out into the rear balcony. Lords and Ladys of the elite bowed and curtsied to him as he passed, and those who were outside hastily made their respects and left them in remote privacy. He sat her down on one of the intricate stone benches, the gentle pattering of the enormous fountain in the distance reaching her ears as she focused on his last words to her. The doors to the balcony swung shut, and she was alone with him. He conjured a matching shrug to shield her from the cold, and she held it close as the heating charms did their work to keep the cold away._

 _He sat to her opposite, reclining leisurely on his own stone bench, and his eyes were unwavering as he watched her piece together what had just been said. Hermione's disbelieving eyes met his, and when he didn't admit it was all a joke, Hermione found her words._

 _"You...want to marry me? But I'm a Gryffindor! I was raised by muggles!"_

 _He scoffed at her. "As if that infuriating house was even close to a defining characteristic for whether one should marry another. And I know that Potter investigated my past. I was raised by muggles too. If you could call that abominable woman someone who 'raised' me." His tone was entirely dismissive._

 _"But why?"_

 _"Why?" He stood again, and Hermione, had the situation been different, almost began laughing at his typical pacing whenever he got into one of his lectures. It was typical for Voldemort to begin pacing erratically when he wanted to lecture her about a particular topic that would be lengthy._

 _"You are the heiress of Ravenclaw, and the last time Slytherin's and Ravenclaw's heir married and produced a simultaneous heir of two founders, they discovered great things. They were not as powerful as we are, and we could usher in a greater era of magical innovation!" His eyes were flashing in what she dared describe as excitement. "You are an intelligent witch, despite your stubbornness and emotional traits that being surrounded by Gryffindors has given you, and as much as you like to deny it, you lament at the state of the magical world as equally as I do."_

 _She raised her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"_

 _He gestured his hand towards the ballroom. "These events are deeply rooted in an ancient traditions of our culture. The morals instilled in our young, the passing of magical knowledge was once celebrated. But you noticed it, when you were at Hogwarts," he added as her eyes furrowed in confusion. "The snowballing of our curriculum."_

 _Hermione fumed silently. When she was at Hogwarts, she couldn't understand why modern theories and magical development and experimentation were not part of the core classes. Witches and Wizards were content to learn the spell, enchantment, potion, or hex, but not how they were made, how the slightest movement of the hand in a swish could affect the strength, or even what made the actual spells. Wizard kind had reached a pinnacle of magical development, and in their arrogance and their laziness, had maintained the pinnacle by essentially halting innovation. This kind of maintaining from the 19_ _th_ _century had resulted in a snowball effect, in which two things resulted: new magics were unable to be further researched because there was already a spell similar to it, or new innovations were few and far in between. It was a long standing debate that the Dragon Pox outbreak could have been prevented had medical magics been invested into, rather than maintaining an outdated system._

 _What was even worse, Hogwarts curriculum was never updated, the Muggle studies classes still rooted in pre-industrial era of witch burnings, while potions class was essentially mechanical following instructions, rather than forcing students to learn of the ingredients different reactions and sub-categories. She never blamed Severus Snape for hating his job as much as he did. So the students followed instructions, only retaining the information that made their lives easier rather than innovating the magic to create better things, and that snowballing effect was leading the Wizarding World into a decline. This allowed morons like Fudge to be elected Minister because most of the magical population simply didn't want to think about anything too difficult. But something still tugged at Hermione._

 _"But you don't love me." It sounded stupid when she said it. She felt his eyes flick over to her, and his pacing stopped. She was standing, her eyes downward. Everyone knew how he felt about love, how he sneered about Harry's survival from his killing curse was all due to Lily Potter's love. He stood in front of her, silent for a moment as the wind swirled around them._

 _"No." He said quietly. "You are not foolish enough to believe that I will love you."_

 _Hermione felt her heart sink. It wasn't like she wanted to marry him. Marriage was the last thing on her mind, but she had always thought she'd marry for love._

 _"I do not believe in love." He continued to her, his voice emotionless. "I believe we would be content. We would not loathe each other consistently, despite our frequent clashes." A broken chuckle emitted from her as she remembered the dining room incident. "You are, perhaps, the only woman alive who would neither burden me, nor pester me with pathetic gossip that does not benefit us. I will not flatter you with wooing compliments and promises of stealing your heart, but I can ensure security and meaningfulness in a marriage. You would be free to research and practice your magic, and I can guarantee that the first steps of change could be directed by you."_

 _He painted a tempting picture, and for a moment, she could see those same snotty elitist bowing their heads at her, paying respects to her, and hailing her throughout history as one of the chosen who ushered the Wizarding World into a better age. But her heart caged her back._

 _She sighed and looked up at him. "May I think about this?"_

 _He nodded, the slight disappointment evident in his eyes. "You may present what you wish in your marriage contract to me when you are ready." She noted the when, and not the if. "You can ask Draco or Narcissa Malfoy for their help in constructing it for yourself. And Hermione," He paused as he opened the doors to the balcony, allowing the noise of the ball to leak through. "Do not allow your past to rule yourself. If only, you need to learn how the world truly works, and those who do not seek the power to run it will only be left in the dust._

 _Direct your morals towards the future generations who would benefit from our union, Hermione, and come to me when you are ready."_

She pulled herself out of her thinking when she entered her study: a room had been given to her in order for her to begin her duties as Ravenclaw's heir. Various Gringotts vaults that had been dormant for a long time were waiting to be accessed by her, and the stacks of paperwork the Goblins had sent her were not going to disappear. If she wanted to begin making a difference, she was going to need to build up on the fortune she already had. When she had first gotten the paperwork that listed exactly how much galleons she had, she nearly fainted at how many commas there were. But as she pushed through the door, she stopped suddenly, feeling a magical presence that shouldn't be here. But it was recognizable, and the scar on her chest began aching slightly.

"Dolohov." She said coolly, her head turning to her right to see him leaning against a bookshelf, browsing through one her book's pages casually. Antonin Dolohov was tall, rugged, and absolutely _radiated_ dark. With groomed, but slightly shaggy dark brown hair that choppily grazed his shoulders, and dressed in long black robes that parted to reveal black trousers and a dark green collared shirt with a black tie. Everyone here apparently thought dragon hide boots were all the rage, and he was of no exception. His eyes were dark, and he was one of the few people Hermione firmly believed, that his eyes were the windows of his soul.

"Miss Selwyn," he rumbled, his deep voice smooth and he graced her with a dramatic bow. "I can see our former hostilities are still quite rampant. I came here in the hopes of reconciliation."

"You tried to kill me, Antonin." She replied, her eyes narrowing. "A scar permanent on my body, and you want me to brush it aside?" She decided, for a moment, to put into practice the Slytherin ideology of societal interactions. "Now what, pray tell, would you have to offer for reconciliation?" She tilted her head, waiting, nearly struggling to keep her face impassive. Seeing this man, unscarred and smirking before her, made her want to curse him off the face of the earth. But he was touching her book, so she waited.

"Money." He began. "My family has priceless artifacts that a Lady of your stature could make much better use for them than I."

She scoffed at him, almost enjoying playing Lady of the Manor on him. It was pleasing to her to get back at the Purebloods who so easily flung a killing curse her way just because they thought she was inferior to them. Her blood was starting to boil at the very thought, especially when she felt her magic fill the room like a gentle breeze. _She_ being _inferior_? "There is always a stipulation, Dolohov. Do us a favor and just get to the point." She could see his dark eyes flashing over her, and the deep haze of his gaze was nothing short of subtle arousal at her magic's antics. She felt the disgust, but not surprise: the elite of the magical community coveted magical power and tripped themselves trying to acquire it. If they could not acquire, then they followed.

"I would be honored if the heir of Ravenclaw would become my wife."

She stiffened before tilting her head back to release the peals of laughter that escaped her. From the bottom of her heart, she could only imagine the look on his face when he would find out that someone who was obviously more worthy than he, had offered for her. She idly wondered what Voldemort would do if she accepted the proposal of another, and dismissed the thought. It would only lead to further complications that she really didn't want to involve herself in. Her amused eyes gazed back at the unamused face of Antonin Dolohov, who was trying very hard to reign in his anger and humiliation. "You would devalue me by offering yourself in marriage as a reconciliation barter?" She asked incredulously. He pushed off of the bookshelf, his face twisting into a rage as he slammed her book shut and placed it firmly back on the bookshelf.

"Listen you little blood-traitor," he hissed at her, striding up to her in order to get into her face. "You may have the blood of one of our most revered magical figures, but you do not _deserve_ it. You weren't raised properly, and you should be honored to be considered by a man of my status and upbringing!" He spat, pulling out his wand. "Everyone knows you used to spread your legs for that Potter brat and the blood-traitor Weasley spawn!"

Her eyes flashed. A loud smack echoed throughout the room, her hand stinging slightly from the contact of his stubbled cheek. His eyes no longer held back his fury as he grabbed her wrist and flung her against the wall, pinning her arms. This wasn't like when Voldemort did it, where their magics were in harmony, and the tension and knowledge that neither one of them could truly harm one another. This was the full on rage of a man who had overstepped his boundaries and assumed too much from a woman. He pressed his body against her, grinning lecherously. She pushed hard against him, unable to even budge him, and she could slowly feel the panic grip her as her face twisted into a mixture of panic and fury. She could feel a silent snake slither up her arm, but this one had _wings_ , but invisible to all but her, and time stopped for a moment as it hissed in her ear.

 _"You are stronger,"_ it cooed to her, a strange melody circling the space, one that even Dolohov could hear as he looked around for the source. _"You are more powerful. How dare he lay a hand on you, the purest of pure?"_

It felt absolutely intoxicating, and she found herself agreeing with the serpent. She was Ravenclaw's heir. Selwyn's heir: one of the rarest of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. How dare someone he touch her, to harm her and attempt to possess her? She could feel the snake nodding with her thoughts, nudging against her chin almost.

 _"He questioned your purity. Your virtue. He attacked you."_

He did.

 _"He besmirched your name and that of your worthiness."_

He did.

 _"He slandered those you once held close, as if it were his right."_

So he did.

 _"Your power surpasses his,"_ the snake concluded to her, turning its' unblinking eyes to the doomed Dolohov. _"You must make an example. To belittle you is to belittle the Dark Lord. Whether you think it or not, your magic is as his, and you are his future consort._

 _"Show this filthy man his place."_

It was almost in slow motion, the set of events, that Hermione later on couldn't recall the order it was really occurring, if she had actually seen the snake or just imagined it. A blast of magic had Dolohov flying back into the opposite wall, an end table collapsing under his weight as he fell on top of it. She could feel her magic boiling under her fingertips, itching to come alive and rampant over the idiotic man. She snapped her fingers, and Dolohov was flying again into the center of the room where Hermione and Voldemort sparred with their magic every day. As her magic pinned him down, the room darkened as the shades were drawn in front of the windows, and her robes swirled behind her as she strode forward, drunk on the magical power in the room. She circled him like a hawk, shocking herself over the _enjoyment_ she was feeling over his helplessness.

"You underestimated me, Dolohov." she said coldly, waving her wand silently as the rooms temperature heated up slightly. "Did you not hear the Dark Lord when I first arrived? Do you not know what a magical companion is?" She watched with amusement as his eyes widened in unabated terror, ignoring her use of calling Voldemort the 'Dark Lord'. She pointed her wand at him, and for a moment, she felt the righteous justice take hold as the serpent spoke again when she hesitated.

 _"He put his hands on you. You know what he would have done."_

"Crucio."

The surge of anger that pulled itself into her wand from her very soul was exhilarating. When Harry had said that you had to mean it, he hadn't been kidding. The curse itself was fueling its' own power and might from her anger. _No, not anger._ She corrected herself. _It's justice. If was so willing to do this to me, then he would do so to others._ She pulled back the curse, allowing Dolohov a chance to catch his breath from the screams he was emitting. She cast her eyes coldly down upon his twitching form, feeling the burden of justice on her shoulders. If Voldemort would not correct this behavior, _she_ would. She managed to hide her shock when she saw Dolohov beginning to laugh.

"You little bitch," he spat out between pants. "You're lucky you're the only one who has managed to fight me off. The last little whore I had begged me so bad to spare her." He cackled maniacally. "She stopped after I slaughtered her filthy blood-traitor parents and fucked her on puddles of their blood!"

What happened next, Hermione would never forget. The fury bubbled over and she felt herself shriek a curse she'd never actually tested out before, a combination of the _bombarda_ curse and a burning hex, which essentially cause the insides to swell and burn in extreme pain. Voldemort had challenged her to create a 'dark' curse to prove her point, until he pointed out that it would be a great curse for a quick death for hunters who want to quick kill prey. Kill.

 _Kill._

The smell of burnt flesh met her nostrils, and a strange noise filled the room. It was only then she realized she was gagging over the charred remains of a terrified, but most certainly dead, Antonin Dolohov. She wiped away at her mouth, her eyes unable to look away from what she'd done. She gripped at her hair, the sobs bubbling up her chest and locking at her throat as she dry heaved against her now empty stomach. Her silent screams echoed through her magic, reaching out throughout the manor as she collapsed on her knees in agonized horror.

The door burst open, all familiar figures with their wands out as they surveyed the scene before them. She could see Voldemort striding past the burnt corpse and quickly scooping her up to her feet, meeting her eyes, demanding; wanting, searching her memories. She could feel his intrusion and had no energy to aid him, the scene of Dolohov's cold eyes flashing at her, his grips on her wrists, the tempting serpent. His grips on her arms became gentler, and he led her to a chair as Hermione watched Lucius Malfoy and Augustus Rookwood, their faces riddled with disgust, cover the remains. Voldemort let out a cold laugh, and everyone in the room stopped and looked at him in anticipation.

"It would see," His voice cold and deadly. "That our dear departed friend Antonin did not want to respect our sacred traditions, to respect the purity of not only a sacred bloodline, but of a woman untouched." A resounding gasp made its' way around the followers as she felt their eyes on her, and she idly wondered if he was particularly angry about Dolohov's accusations that many of the Death Eaters thought she had shagged Harry and Ron. He gestured to the covered spot on the floor.

"Let this be a lesson to all of you. Regardless of what you _think_ ," he hissed out the last word, his eyes narrowing. "There are rules and traditions to be upheld. We have fought for this. Going against them, regardless of if you are right, is a sign of a _blood traitor._ " The room was so silent, a pin could drop, and it would be as if a window shattered. "If she does not deal with you first, I will. And I promise you, my dear followers, she will be far kinder than I. Dolohov was lucky his end was quick."

He snapped his fingers and the remains of Dolohov were taken away from her sight. As the remaining Death Eaters left the room, Voldemort turned to her, his eyes full of triumph and approval, even as she burst into tears in front of him.

* * *

She was outside, without an outer robe to keep her cold.

It was stupid, and it was no doubt she'd catch cold if she didn't go inside soon, but she couldn't make herself care. She had killed, no, _murdered_ someone. No matter his crimes, his attempts on her person, it wasn't her decision to decide when someone should die. She shuddered, whether from the cold or from self-disgust, she didn't know. She didn't care that Voldemort was proud of her for asserting herself, for 'utilizing her magical power the way it should be used' as he said.

She felt disgusting. The terror and screams of Dolohov's last moments would be etched in her mind for the rest of her life.

She shuddered again and looked up. When had it started raining? It was only then she realized she was soaked to the bone, and the sun was setting. It was near freezing. She slowly got up from the stone bench, walking slowly towards the back doors of the manor into a sitting room. The fireplace was still roaring away in the dark brown room, and she shut the door quietly behind her, her body shaking violently from the shivering. She felt so much self-loathing that she almost didn't care.

"Miss G—Selwyn!"

Hermione's head shot up. The room was not uninhabited, and rapidly approaching her with his robes billowing behind him, hair still long and greasy with a sneer on his face, was none other than Severus Snape. The potion's master was still pale and intimidating as he summoned a house elf to assist her in rapidly changing into dry clothes, summoning a thick blanket and firmly placing her in front of the fireplace while ordering for warm beverages. She stared away from the flames, the warmth and the brightness reminding her too much of what she had done. She saw a shadow pass her, and Snape had settled into the armchair in front of the fireplace identical to hers, but opposite positioned. His dark eyes narrowed.

"I heard what happened with the werewolf."

She looked away. Remus, another mistake. Another hurt.

"They told the Order your side of the story. Many of them left in protest of what Dumbledore had done." He continued, leaning forward where his elbows were balancing on his knees. "You still did some good."

She snorted at him. "Forgive me, Professor, but I have done so much far from good."

"I am no longer your Professor. It would be prudent for you to address me as Severus."

"Fine, Severus."

"Anyways," He dismissed her quiet response. "What happened with Dolohov was nothing short of what he deser-"

"It was **not** my job to decide what he deserved." She spat, the venom in her voice almost startling her. "Who am I to judge someone for what is right and what is wrong. There were plenty of options, smart options, that I could have chosen that would have not ended in his death. At least, not on my hands." Her shoulders slumped as the tears came rolling down her cheeks. It wasn't like she had liked Dolohov, or that she was mourning his death; he was a right bastard, and had probably made countless people suffer needlessly. But it wasn't her to kill.

"If it wasn't you, it would have been someone else." Severus said bluntly. Her head shot up angrily. "Yes, it wasn't someone else. It was you. **You** had the power to stop someone evil." He shooed away her attempt to interrupt him by sneering at her. "How would you feel, Miss Selwyn, if he honored your request to leave and then assaulted an innocent girl? Or, perhaps, taken his frustrations out on an innocent family who had the misfortune of getting in his way?"

"But that wasn't what happened."

"But it _could_ have. Even if he had succeeded in his assault, he could have done worse to others afterward."

"That's completely hypothetical."

"Is it? A man who has had a history of sadistically brutalizing young, defenseless women doing exactly that over and over again?" He drawled, taking a drink from the cups the house elves had served them in the middle of their conversation. "You may call it murder if you wish, no doubt your Gryffindor tendencies are muddling your perception of what it really was. It was _justice_. You were given this power, Miss Selwyn. It is for you to decide what is right and what is wrong because the magic bestowed upon you has given you the power to decide it as such."

Hermione thought back to the winged serpent, which she later decided was her and Voldemort's bonded magic speaking to her. The sense of justice she felt she had bestowed upon Dolohov had felt righteous, not dark. She clutched at her chest. The ache wasn't as bad. She looked back at Snape, who had a self satisfied smirk on his face.

She didn't know if she was justifying her murdering him, or if it truly was justice, but a part of her heart vowed to focus on detaching her emotions from her magic. At the thought of her emotions, she turned towards Snape, rubbing the remaining tears from her eyes, her face thoughtful.

"Severus...do you know how to write up a Pureblood marriage contract?"

* * *

 **Ayyyee! I finally got chapter 9 finished. So sorry folks, I know you guys were used to me posting almost every day, but finals are coming up and I had a massive writer's block. Couldn't figure out how to lead up to what happened in the chapter. I know some of you asked about Snape earlier, and here he is! I do hope to incorporate him more into the fiction, so we'll see! Until next time, please read, review, love, favorite!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Lots of inquisitive reviews, I like it! Many of your questions will be answered in time, and some within this very chapter. I'm going to try and throw a lot of chapters at you guys within the next three weeks before Fall semester starts, so be prepared. If you have any questions about the fiction, leave them in your reviews. Odds are either I haven't thought about that, or it's already been written as a plot bunny and will be included in the future. Just bear with me :)**

 **Warnings:** **AU Implications, bigotry, angst, violence.**

 **Disclaimer** **: If I use legos, will it negate Rowling's sand?**

* * *

 _"Do you know how to write a Pureblood marriage contract?"_

Dark eyebrows rose at the question, and the crossed legs unfolded themselves to extend a hand to help her up towards the table, wand flicking to summon parchment and quill for their use. "I certainly have," he finally said as they situated themselves. "Being in the Death Eaters as a half-blood meant I had to know everything about traditions. I even helped Bellatrix with her contract as an assistant to her solicitor." He ignored her cringe at the name and watched as the quill began to write the standard heading of a magically binding contract, the bold word of 'marriage' taunting Hermione with its' bonds. She knew that marriage to Voldemort was inevitable, so it was best to approach it preemptively with a plan of action: Pureblood Marriage Contract. Problem was, she had a limited education about it.

"I'm not very sure how this all works," she began, flustering slightly at his smirk. He had waited for the day for her to not know something. He stretched out his arms before leaning back, his familiar lecture mode in place.

"You know, at the very least, that a Pureblood Marriage Contract allows the bride and groom to submit their desires and what they want in a marriage." He drone lazily, almost infuriatingly slow until she sent a stinging hex at his knee. Hissing, he resumed a normal conversational pace. "Among those topics of desires include wealth, living situations, when and how many children they want, property, and so on. Some of them are very simple, involving just a page or two of insuring that the spouses don't kill each other, that they live in a house, and have children. Others are several pages, stacks even, dictating minuet details in an anal retentive manner. Regardless of how I describe it," he continued, ignored her outraged gasp over the latter description. "No doubt you'll want a more detailed contract for yourself, if only to soothe those loathsome Gryffindor tendencies to overreact to everything."

"Your insults to my house are only proving my point that we are the best."

"Says the Ravenclaw heiress."

She scowled at him. "So, essentially I put forth a contract that will dictate our lives?"

He shook his head. "Not necessarily. You put down what you want, and then it is up to the other party to agree, or write concessions, stipulate and clarify, or even outright reject the contact. In many cases, clarifications are put into writing on the contract, and some requests are refuted with a counter-offer." He waved his wand, and Hermione could see the various sub-clauses begin to appear with the quill furiously scribbling away for them. 'Family', 'Financial', 'Living Arrangements', 'Spousal Rights', and several other topics began appearing, before one caught her eye.

"'Marriage Bindings?'" She quoted, looking up from the parchment with barely concealed wariness. "Is he going to tie me to the alter, and I just get to pick what kind of bindings? I do much prefer gentle silks."

Severus snorted, rolling his eyes at her attempt at humor before shaking his head. "The Wizarding World has different ceremonies for marriage. Some are just simple ceremonies where they recite dribbling love nonsense to each other, give each other a rock on their finger, and sign a certificate proclaiming spousal jailing." He sneered, watching the rain fall heavily outside from the darkened window. "However, there are those more...traditional. Seven bonds are the most traditional. They include cherishing, protection, family, fidelity, honor, respect, and infinity. The latter, being, of course, you being married for life. The most traditional of weddings is held on the seventh day, at 7 o'clock, with seven magical bonds binding the bride and groom together. The Dark Lord, I suspect, would especially desire such an event."

She was surprised. "But binding himself to me? For eternity? I doubt he'd want to be bound to me and obligated to do such things such as cherishing me." She added bitterly. No mention of love in those bindings, but even she knew that you could not force someone to truly love you.

"You would be surprised of the faith that he has in you," Snape replied quietly. "I am not saying the Dark Lord has suddenly begun writing sonnets of love for you, or has quit his quest of conquering the Wizarding World, but he has acknowledged you as his equal. You are the only person who has ever argued with him and walked away without being cursed into oblivion."

His profound statement stunned her. How many times had Harry told us about his visions of a follower merely not following orders quick enough being _crucio'd_ into insanity? Or even a mere thought that Voldemort disagreed with could get someone in an unfortunate corner with Bellatrix at his orders? Yet she had thrown deadly curses at him. Gotten into his face in front of his followers even, and argued with him over many things he had said, and he had never cursed her to the point of being in any pain close enough to a _crucio_. There was a long silence between them, the crackling of the fire in the background combined with the soothing splashing on rain on the window creating a symphony of ambiance.

"Whose side are you really on, Severus?" She blurted out suddenly, the thought only just now coming to her.

Dark, cold eyes turned themselves onto her. He flicked his wand, and Hermione could feel the hazy magic of a sound ward.

"When I first joined the Death Eaters, it was because I supported the Dark Lord." He began smoothly, eyes distant in memory. "I wanted to prove myself, and his ideals are very much aligned with my own. When Dumbledore came to me and asked for me as a double agent after what had happened with the Prewett brothers, I agreed. You have to remember, the Dark Lord is very intelligent and when I first joined, I saw what he could lead the world into. But..." he trailed off slightly, his face almost conveying his confusion to the point where Hermione leaned in to hear his whisper. "As the war went on, he became _different._ Many of us cannot describe it. We had a purpose if we had to kill, but it slowly evolved into just killing everyone. I had thought, mistakenly, that those actions were what he really wanted, and I wanted it to stop." He shook his head slightly.

"So," Hermione's face reflected her confusion. "I don't understand. You _were_ his follower, but you're still a spy?"

"No." He said finally. "After personal counsel with the Dark Lord, I have been reassured that the types of actions that we were perpetuating in during the last war will not be a repeat. I did not get an explanation for it, nor did I ask. The Dark Lord you see now is the Dark Lord I saw when I joined."

Hermione sat back, stunned, a question nagging in her mind. _But what changed from then to now? What was different?"_

"Why are you answering my questions?" She asked bluntly. It had only just occurred to her that she was talking to Professor Stay-the-hell-out-of-my-business Snape. Emotions, memories, he would have never let her be privy to this knowledge before. "What changed that you feel you can confide such things to me?"

He looked almost surprised. "Because you are the Dark Lady." He admitted grudgingly. "I must afford to you the same respect as I to him."

"But we aren't married yet." She implored, ignoring the tiny pulse of anxiety the title gave her. "You've nothing to accomplish by telling me what he already knows."

"I will not lie to you, Miss Selwyn," The silky voice was back. "This is purely for preservation purposes. It would not bode well for me to anger you now, and face his wrath later. Additionally, you are my former student. While I do not particularly like any of the dunderheads that have sullied my potions lab, you were more than competent."

"And you feel the nagging desire to see me succeed in the hopes my offspring will plague your classroom with pestering questions simmering with intelligence." She finished sarcastically with a grin, the smile going wider as he sneered back at her.

"It would not hurt for the magical population to take after your enthusiasm for obtaining knowledge, if only to take it a step further and think beyond book smarts." She huffed at his smirk, rolling her eyes before they turned back to the dreaded contract.

"So how do we start this?"

"Why don't you just _tell_ me what you want and we can see if it is acceptable to be placed in the contract. Be sure to clarify if it is a negotiable aspect." She nodded at his snip, and paused for a moment when he approached the first category of family.

"I don't mind the number of children, but I do expect him to allot proper attention to each child and to not place favorites." She began firmly, thinking of the Pureblood's oft behavior of favoring the first born son, or considering daughters as a failure. "This is nonnegotiable. I refuse to bring children into the world if their father doesn't care for them." She avidly avoided thinking about exactly _how_ they would create children. The Potions Master nodded along silently as the quill scribbled his thoughts down on the parchment. A thought came to her: "I don't want to begin having children until at least six months after we're married." Her face morphed to irritation as Snape began to chuckle at her. "What?"

"Do you really think that two magical beings like yourselves would be held back from reproduction with a mere contraception charm?" He asked her dryly, looking terribly amused when she blushed angrily at him. "You can hope, maybe, that you won't get pregnant right after you get married, but you are in your fertile years and both of you are very powerful. That spells brat-spawning whether you like it or not."

She sighed. "Well, it's _preferable_ but obviously out of our hands."

Some more scratches of the quill before he spoke again. "The next category is financial."

Hermione thought back to the wealth left to her by both Alphard Black and Rosemary Selwyn, the properties that both owned included several enormous vaults in Gringotts, an enormous plot of land that spanned many kilometers that were surrounded by several prominent Wizarding villages, and several houses that rent to wizarding families. Her solicitors had been managing the properties for her until she came into her heritage, and the combined income from those along with several magical clothing and international potion ingredient businesses had her sitting comfortably for the rest of her life if she so chose. Her favorite thing, however, was the Manor her mother and father had built to pass on to her, and it wasn't that far away from Malfoy Manor. Her face turned thoughtful.

"I don't really care to stay in Malfoy Manor," she began hesitantly. "It isn't my home. I would like to reside in a place that is my own, that I own, and can be myself in. The Manor that my family left me is just as large as this place. It _is_ negotiable, but I would like to live there."

He nodded. "Traditionally the husband would be in charge of financial accounts while the wife handled the social affairs-" He cut himself off and rubbed his shoulder that began aching at the spike of irritated magic that emitted from Hermione. "Obviously, you prefer to have your nest egg, so to speak, and social affairs can be duly decided." She nodded at him. As if she'd become some mere socialite!

They breezed through many of the categories, many easy to figure out, such as her expectations over how she'd be treated as his wife, her education opportunities, and equal parental rights over their future children. While she didn't want to think about having children now, it was important to make sure Voldemort wasn't merely using her for her magical prowess for spawning strong heirs with a pure bloodline. They rolled up the contract, after Hermione made a mental note to talk to the dark wizard when they met again, she reclined back in the chair, her mind still whirling.

"What is going on in the world now?" She said suddenly. Since reading the _Daily Prophet_ and the events following her finding out the world knew her secrets, she dedicated herself to staying away from knowing at this point. She could, at the very least, trust Severus to give her important details.

"The Dark Lord has been moving forward with many of his plans. As far as the Ministry is concerned, coupled with the discovery of Dumbledore's crimes, Muggle culture in the Wizarding World is slowly being eradicated with little public resistance." He informed her, taking a bite of sliced chicken. The house elves, when dinner time rolled around, had brought them their meals, and Hermione made sure to send her excuses to her hosts about their absences. "It is only a matter of time before Muggleborns are being forced to choose between the Muggle world and our world, the latter resulting in obliviating and permanent magic loss."

Hermione frowned. "I don't understand that aspect. Why force muggleborns to choose?"

He rolled his eyes again at her. "Do you not understand the strain muggleborns place on society by being schooled, for free I might add as the Ministry keeps a fund for Muggleborns who can't afford school supplies, and then decide to pursue a Muggle occupation instead of contributing to the society that gave them everything?" He pushed on when she remained silent. "Additionally, their loyalties are divided. They don't think about what's best for the Wizarding World when laws are being introduced, they think of their muggle friends and family first. You heard story in Professor Binns' class, about the witch hunts, where possessing magic meant death?" She nodded slightly at him, intrigued.

"It is coming to that again if we don't stop it. Magic being something that people are afraid of. Afraid to develop, to use, to innovate; magical kind being terrified to use something that is a part of them because they thing it'll scare the weak muggles." He sneered at the statement, clenching a fist slightly. "Witches who marry muggle men have the magic beaten out of them, and they become scared to fight back because it's a muggle, never mind that they possess more power than they, because of the Ministry and the damn pro-muggle lobbyists make it forbidden to use magic against them in any cases." She could sense the bitterness in his tone, wondering vaguely if this was more personal than he let on.

"So then..." she trailed off slightly, biting her lip. "What makes Purebloods better?"

"If you go beyond the fact that they are the guardians of Wizarding tradition, their blood is richer." He shrugged. "I've done research. Their blood is richer and more prone to carrying magical progeny and developing new magical traits. They are born surrounded by magic, and that alone aids in superior development into a magical adult." Well, that was something new to Hermione, who sat back, shocked.

Snape waved his hand dismissively. "There is also talk within the Wizarding World of expanding international Wizarding travel to help bring more diverse magical blood here, to dilute the Purebloods bloodlines in order to eliminate inbreeding as a cause of squibhood. Relocation of muggleborn infants under the Government's state run program to give to Wizarding couples who cannot have children is in the talks as well."

"And the Order?" Hermione couldn't listen to the political aspects anymore. Kidnapping children from their parents? She didn't want to think about it currently. "What happened with them after what happened to me came out?"

He sighed. "Some of them, like that insufferable Weasley brat and his sister, were convinced you were lying to cover up your spying on the Order." She gasped outrageously, but Snape ignored it and continued. "Others outright up and left, completely denouncing the Order left and right. Percy Weasley, Shacklebolt, Longbottom, Lovegood-"

 _"Neville_ and _Luna_ left the Order?" Luna Lovegood had joined the Order after what happened at the Department of Mysteries in their fifth year, and had bonded closely with Neville Longbottom. The fact that the morally strict Neville Longbottom had the courage to leave the Order was definitely telling over how upset it must have made him. "What does his Grandmother say about it?"

"Augusta Longbottom passed recently, actually." Surprised again, she turned to him. "She passed, and then I believe Mad-Eye is also dead, although he did challenge the Dark Lord directly, so it was really his fault." She shook her head. He really had been mad.

"And some just haven't made a position yet because they don't know what to think. That would be the majority of the Weasleys. Nymphadora is currently siding with the younger Weasleys, while the werewolf seems to be content to stay neutral."

Hermione's face turned bitter. "Could have fooled me, when he and Tonks tried to curse me as I was leaving their cottage." She watched Snape's face turn cold, his fists clenched.

"Leave it to Lupin to act like the animal he is."

Ignoring that comment, she stood, folding the blanket and setting it aside, watching a house elf take it away to another room. She was completely dry and comfortable, and had a lot of thinking to do until she met with Voldemort again. The anxiety in her head made her stomach fold into knots, and she couldn't help but feel that her life was way beyond her control. The Order was split up, Muggleborns being forced to choose between their magic and their families, and an impending marriage to the darkest wizard in the world tended to ride on the coattails of stress and mental breakdowns. As she turned and opened the door leading out, she paused at her name being called.

"You can think about it over and over again all you want, instead of fighting the change, perhaps you should just guide it instead. There's nothing for you in the past."

* * *

Throughout the night she'd tossed and turned in her bed, sleep always nearing but never was she able to fully get to sleep. After a couple hours of lazily dozing in her bed, she got up, frustrated, and pulled on a robe to wander around again. She looked towards her bed for her wand and blinked: very small, silvery wisps were hovering over her pillows, like dancing jelly fishes in the air. She rubbed her eyes, and the wisps were gone, but the silvery aura around her pillow remained. She grabbed her wand and muttered revealing spells around her bed: nothing, no spells, enchantments, or magical objects to be found. Dismissing it as a hallucination caused by sleep deprivation, she opened the door to her room and trotted out.

The hallways were illuminated with the full moonbeam through the large windows that periodically walked by the inhabitants of the manor. She hummed softly to herself as an open door caught her eye. Narcissa Malfoy had mentioned the room a week or so ago. The Tapestry room.

" _This is the Tapestry room. We placed your family's tapestry on that wall over there by my own. Every family member gets their own magical tapestry to take to their new home when they get married or move away from the main family." The regal woman had explained. "Here, I show my Draco where my side of the family originated, and Lucius can show him the Malfoy family. Even here." She pointed high up on the Malfoy family tree: Amina Malfoy, Draco's great, great, grandmother, had been married to Darius Selwyn. Hermione had originally crossed the Malfoy's off as a family to go to for help even though they had been her ancestors._

She slowly walked into the room, her bare feet making very little noise as she gazed upon the intricate tapestries that surrounded her. The Malfoy family had their silver tapestry decorated in a hierarchical manner, Hyperion Malfoy being one of the first Malfoys in recorded existence. There were no burnt marks in this tapestry like the one in Grimmauld Place. Her fingers traced down the direct lineage that lead to Draco Malfoy at the very bottom. She knew that when Draco got his tapestry, there would be more space at the bottom for when he had children, and so on.

She turned her head to Narcissa's Tapestry, the silken fabrics soft to the touch as she traced the faces of the various family members, many she had already visited. The tree's branches were thick and strong, but the branches that had once had Andromeda, Alphard, and Sirius were withered and wilted, probably the family disowning magic that had taken place when they each did something to anger the head of the house. The black tapestry was indeed beautiful.

She then turned her head to her own deep, royal blue tapestry and felt her heart go heavy: the names and faces she saw before her, she would never know. A gentle finger against the portrait of her mother, blinking away tears at the sudden feeling of loss. Dumbledore had taken away her chances at meeting her real family. Her mother, dead at childbirth, though Hermione hadn't ruled out that Dumbledore may have been a factor in her lack of survival. Her father, dead. Her grandparents, dead, her mother's father having died of sickness two years ago. The deep feelings of resentment bubbled up, and she quickly wiped away the emerging tears from her face before turning at the sound of footsteps at the door.

She froze.

Dressed in a Slytherin green robe, hair pitch black and in unruly curls, her eyes equally as black, was Bellatrix Lestrange. It was the first time either of them had been alone in a room together since she first had arrived there. Hermione felt her heart quicken, and the anxiety pooled up once more, weighing down her heart heavily. She made to move past the witch but...

"Wait!" Bellatrix's voice was.. desperate almost? Hermione's cautious eyes turned slowly to meet the woman's, and then there was silence. "I know you do not like me. No, wait!" She interrupted whatever Hermione was going to say. "I know you do not like me." Her voice held no emotion, but Hermione could almost see hurt in her eyes. "I just want to sit down and explain some things to you, to put some events into perspective." Hermione was about to make excuses, but blinked again: this time, there were black wisps, almost in the shape of miniature dust bunnies, floating around Bellatrix's head. These wisps stayed longer before disappearing, and Hermione hadn't blinked, verifying that what she had seen was real. Something was telling her to listen to Bellatrix, so she waited.

Bellatrix seemed to be struggling on how to properly phrase her speech in a way that wouldn't irate the smaller brunette. "My family," she began slowly. "Has always suffered for our dark history. I am not ashamed of it. I wanted to celebrate my magical heritage. When I joined the Dark Lord, I felt that it was the first time I could be free to be myself without feeling ashamed." Hermione thought back to Severus' explanation behind the anti-muggleborn movement within the Death Eaters, and, for a moment, could see that very poster child in front of her. Then Bellatrix continued. "My family has always had to maintain a persona towards those we felt inferior or attempted to belittle our name. Though I'll admit that Azkaban has...aggravated that in many cases, I am not a sadistic murderess 24/7."

"But you'll torture people into insanity and leave a baby an orphan." Hermione bit back, remembering poor Neville visiting his parents in St. Mungos.

"I told Frank and Alice I would come for them," Bellatrix snipped back, her eyes angry and dark, so familiar with the Bellatrix Hermione knew. "They are the reason I cannot have children!"

Hermione withdrew in shock. Bellatrix took a deep breathe, and began.

"When I and my husband began searching for the Dark Lord, we heard that there were documents that contained rumored locations of where he might be. We stole the papers and began making our escape when the Auror couple confronted us and began dueling." She sighed heavily, eyes off in the distance as her magic crackled in anguish around the dark witch. "Frank hit me with a curse, and before I knew it, I was miscarrying my unborn child I hadn't know I had." The grief was hidden, but palpable, and Hermione felt it carry onto her already heavy heart.

"And that blood-traitor Auror had said it was probably for the best, that there didn't need to be 'any more of my lot' anyways. 'Good riddance'." Bellatrix's quotes were laced with anger now. "So I cursed that filthy bastard and his wife into insanity, and spared their child even though they did not do the same for me. I could not at the time. I was overwhelmed with despair, and then we were caught and thrown into Azkaban."

The room was heavy with anguish. Hermione thought back to Sirius: how actions in the war were judged by the victors, and often times those who went beyond the law while touting the banner of the Light side were often given a blind eye to their misdeeds, provided they could bring in Dark wizards. Then it would go down in history with names of people who only did good, their dark pasts never being brought to light because the victims would be dismissed as disgruntled losers, or, in Bellatrix's case, insane.

"You would have come to us, you know." She said quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"When your mother passed. I know she corresponded a lot with mine. You would have been placed into my family had we known about your mother's passing. My mother had thought you had died in childbirth with your mother."

There was more silence, and Hermione added another item on the 'what could have been' list in her head filled with bitterness.

"I know our history has been...difficult." Hermione snorted, but Bellatrix ignored it. "I am not asking you to like me, or love me. But I would at leas try to build some sort of familial foundation with you along with Cissy." Dark eyes met caramel ones in the moonlighted room. "I may not be very feminine like she, but I am trained in many Pureblood magics, traditions, and possess knowledge passed down to females in the Pureblood lines."

Interest perked guardedly in Hermione's eyes. "I...suppose I'd like that." A small smile appeared on her face. Bellatrix's back straightened, and while the witch didn't smile back, her eyes managed to convey more emotion than Hermione ever thought possible beyond rage.

"Whenever you'd like to meet. I'm always available provided the Dark Lord has no use for me."

And so ended the oddest day of Hermione's life.

* * *

A gentle stack of parchment paper was gently handed to him. He stared at her incredulously, the first display of emotion on his face besides irritation.

"You caved so soon. And now you've made me owe Lucius five galleons."

She ignored the mournful tone as she watch him read over the contract. They had been training for most of the day, but decided to cut it short and instead take a break in the Library, where she was reading a book Bellatrix had lent her on Pureblood holiday traditions. Samhain festivities were the next one coming up, and Hermione wanted to be ready. She watched the dark haired man with unabated curiosity, before studying him closer as she watched him read the parchment that would decide their life in the future. Voldemort looked a lot like a young Brett Halsey, the 1950s look never had actually faded from his personal style. His hair was jet black, skin pale and smooth, and his features made her guess his physical age looked to be around his mid 30s. She lost herself in her observations until he said something again.

"I can see no issue with this."

She was surprised. She had expected him to find something to contest with the contract.

"You have listed here, however, a stipulation that 'must be discussed in private' before you agree to marry me." He narrowed his dangerous eyes at her as she suddenly found her book a lot more interesting. She sighed, knowing the the inevitable conversation would be better done now than later.

"I have two questions that I _have_ to have an answer to, no matter what." She said firmly, look at him directly.

"The first question is simple; why do you want children when you're immortal?"

He looked at her seriously. "Despite being a Dark Lord, I would like to bestow the world my progeny to expand my power and excellence to the Wizarding World. Even if they were more powerful than I, with proper raising, they would never be a threat to my power." He continued on, leaning back in his dark leather chair, his feet on his desk. "Not to mention, both your bloodline and my bloodline rely on us to carry it on. I am fighting to preserve the Purebloods, not assist in their destruction. Which is why I am pleased you did not stipulate a small number of children." He looked at her expectantly, waiting with a bored look on his face as she nodded slowly. "Your second question, Hermione."

She bit her bottom lip again.

"How did you achieve immortality?"

The bored look vanished.

 **Well! I left it on a cliffhanger. Sorry this chapter is shorter than what I usually supply, but this is nearly 10 pages in my document, so I hate it when makes it look smaller than it is. Please, read, review, and leave a comment about what you think. Voldemort looks like a younger (but not too young) Brett Halsey. Smooth skin people, so nothing too old looking. I'm trying to maintain that cute 1950s hairdo that looks very sophisticated. He still has red eyes though. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Alright, well, I've seen a lot of people reading, so I hope I've maintained a good following. I would like some constructive reviews from my followers, not just to feed my ego, but more so I can improve my writing. As long as its' constructive and not disrespectful, I will take it at face value and strive to improve! Hope everyone is liking the story so far!**

 **Warning: Mature scenes, bigotry, etc.**

 **Disclaimer: There will be part of J.K. Rowling's original work in here, so just FYI, I make no profit from it, only toying with her work for my amusement.**

* * *

" _Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?"_

 _Tom Riddle was, by definition, extremely handsome. With perfectly coiffed jet-black hair, eyes smoldering, and his mouth half-raised in an almost charming, casual smile. Only those who knew him truly knew he wasn't smiling because he was enjoying himself. That much was evident as the large, portly man in front of him chortled._

" _Tom, Tom, if I knew I couldn't tell you," said Professor Horace Slughorn, wagging his finger reprovingly at Riddle, though winking at the same time. "I must say, I'd like to know where you get your information, boy, more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are." Riddle smiled; the other boys laughed and cast him admiring looks. Many of them were recognizable in physical features alone: the blond was definitely a Malfoy._

" _What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn't, and your careful flattery of the people who matter — thank you for the pineapple, by the way, you're quite right, it is my favorite —" Several of the boys tittered again. "— I confidently expect you to rise to Minister of Magic within twenty years. Fifteen, if you keep sending me pineapple, I have excellent contacts at the Ministry." Slughorn was very skilled at turning a compliment for someone else into a compliment for himself._

 _The boys who were behind Tom were by no means younger like one would expect. Instead, they looked older, the ones who were born and bred to be leaders, yet their eyes and actions all gravitated towards pleasing and following the younger, powerful dark-haired man in front of them."I don't know that politics would suit me, sir," he said when the laughter had died away. "I don't have the right kind of background, for one thing." More snickering, possibly because they all knew what his real background was._

" _Nonsense," said Slughorn briskly, "couldn't be plainer you come from decent Wizarding stock, abilities like yours. No, you'll go far, Tom, I've never been wrong about a student yet." He hadn't been wrong, but Professor Slughorn probably hadn't realized what he'd meant by 'going far'._

 _The small golden clock standing upon Slughorn's desk chimed eleven o'clock behind him and he looked around. "Good gracious, is it that time already? You'd better get going, boys, or we'll all be in trouble. Lestrange, I want your essay by tomorrow or it's detention. Same goes for you, Avery." One by one, the boys filed out of the room. Slughorn heaved himself out of his armchair and carried his empty glass over to his desk. A movement behind him made him look around; Riddle was still standing there. Knowing that Slughorn, at the very least, survives this encounter having been a student under him, she watches carefully from the corner._

" _Look sharp, Tom, you don't want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you a prefect . . ."_

" _Sir, I wanted to ask you something." She felt herself tense up._

" _Ask away, then, m'boy, ask away. . . ."_

" _Sir, I wondered what you know about . . . about Horcruxes?" A complete and utter blank went through her head. Horcruxes?What on Earth were those?_

 _Slughorn stared at him, his thick fingers absentmindedly caressing the stem of his wine glass. "Project for Defense Against the Dark Arts, is it?" She scowled at the Professor. This was the darkest wizard in the world, obviously asking something not atypical to any taught curriculum in Hogwarts so long as Dumbledore roamed it, and he had to ask such an idiotic question. Slughorn knew that it was most definitely not a project._

" _Not exactly, sir," said Riddle. "I came across the term while reading and I didn't fully understand it."_

" _No . . . well . . . you'd be hard-pushed to find a book at Hogwarts that'll give you details on Horcruxes, Tom, that's very Dark stuff, very Dark indeed," said Slughorn. Riddle's face was carefully composed to display the proper emotions, and Hermione knew she was watching the master manipulator do what he did best._

" _But you obviously know all about them, sir? I mean, a wizard like you — sorry, I mean, if you can't tell me, obviously — I just knew if anyone could tell me, you could — so I just thought I'd ask —" It was carefully crafted, and from anyone who knew him could tell. Whatever these Horcruxes were, Tom wanted them badly. He had practiced on too many unwilling people, people he had to flatter, not kill, in order to give him the information he wanted._

" _Well," said Slughorn, not looking at Riddle, but fiddling with the ribbon on top of his box of crystallized pineapple, "well, it can't hurt to give you an overview, of course. Just so that you understand the term. A Horcrux is the word used for an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul." Hermione, for once, had the thought that this was the one time an overview of something could indeed be hurtful to give._

" _I don't quite understand how that works, though, sir," said Riddle. The excitement was clear but controlled. He couldn't play his hand yet. She almost admired his patience at the portly man's hesitation, she would've been a lot less subtle in her eagerness._

" _Well, you split your soul, you see," said Slughorn, "and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one's body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. But of course, existence in such a form . . ." She was watching both of their expressions; Slughorn's crumpled in near undisguised disgust while Tom's eyes danced wildly, but still controlled._

" _. . . few would want it, Tom, very few. Death would be preferable."_

 _But Riddle's hunger was now apparent; his expression was greedy, he could no longer hide his longing. She almost tsked at the blatant emotion. Little power-hungry bastard._

" _How do you split your soul?"_

" _Well," said Slughorn uncomfortably, "you must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against nature."_

" _But how do you do it?"_

" _By an act of evil — the supreme act of evil. By committing murder. Killing rips the soul apart. The wizard intent upon creating a Horcrux would use the damage to his advantage: He would encase the torn portion —"_

" _Encase? But how — ?"_

" _There is a spell, do not ask me, I don't know!" said Slughorn, shaking his head like an old elephant bothered by mosquitoes. "Do I look as though I have tried it — do I look like a killer?"_

" _No, sir, of course not," said Riddle quickly. "I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean to offend . . ." Smooth recovery, Riddle._

" _Not at all, not at all, not offended," said Slughorn gruffly. "It's natural to feel some curiosity about these things. . . . Wizards of a certain caliber have always been drawn to that aspect of magic. . . ." Great justification for teaching your students about the darkest and most brutal of magics, she thought warily to herself, the epiphany of understanding coming to her about the purpose behind this memory._

" _Yes, sir," said Riddle. "What I don't understand, though — just out of curiosity — I mean, would one Horcrux be much use? Can you only split your soul once? Wouldn't it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces, I mean, for instance, isn't seven the most powerfully magical number, wouldn't seven — ?" She gasped, covering her mouth. It didn't matter, neither of the memory induced people could see or hear her._

" _Merlin's beard, Tom!" yelped Slughorn. "Seven! Isn't it bad enough to think of killing one person? And in any case . . . bad enough to divide the soul . . . but to rip it into seven pieces . . ." That was perhaps the only thing she agreed with Professor Slughorn about. It was obvious at this point, with his disturbed looks at Tom, that he regretted the conversation entirely._

" _Of course," he muttered, "this is all hypothetical, what we're discussing, isn't it? All academic . . ." Denial must have been her former Professor's favorite retreat._

" _Yes, sir, of course," said Riddle quickly. Even she could see through the lie._

" _But all the same, Tom . . . keep it quiet, what I've told — that's to say, what we've discussed. People wouldn't like to think we've been chatting about Horcruxes. It's a banned subject at Hogwarts, you know. . . . Dumbledore's particularly fierce about it. . . ." Hermione, for once, could agree with Dumbledore's judgment on this one._

" _I won't say a word, sir," said Riddle, and just before she raised her head to pull herself out of the memory, she could not miss Riddle, with his back turned to his concerned professor, his face full of elation and the familiar smirk of success._

Hermione sat back down in the leather armchair, her mind numb and her face stunned. _Horcruxes_. He split his _soul_. If any indication from the memory was to go by, no doubt he had done it seven times. While seven was a powerful magical number, to split his soul, to murder so bad that it rips the soul apart, she just stared at him silently. When she had asked him about his methods of immortality, she really hadn't expected him to tell her, let alone show her.

His was standing opposite of her, his forearm resting against the fireplace mantle as his dangerous red eyes stared into the flames. He looked up back at her, his face more serious than she'd ever seen since she arrived. His voice was quiet when he spoke.

"I managed to create my seven Horcruxes." He began, but Hermione noted that his face, his tone, held no victory to it. "I currently only have four." Why was he telling her this? This vulnerability, this weakness. The man in the memory had been elated to find out he could cheat death, but why was he standing before her now looking disappointed?

She managed to speak. "What happened?" At his raised eyebrow, she hastily added, "Obviously something didn't go right if you only have four when you had seven. I know you only died once when the spell rebounded from Harry." He shook his head at her.

"The incident at the Potter home was my moment of revelation." He said quietly once more, the crackling of the fire interrupting the silence. "Tell me, Hermione. What do you know of what went on in the First Great War?" He asked, his eyes unfeeling of what he was thinking.

"In terms of...?"

"The persona of my Death Eaters, which group was targeted the most, and the methods used commonly from us."

Her brow furrowed as she recalled the statistics behind _The War on Wizards_ book she had read her first year; it had been the first time she'd seen Harry's name. " "The Death Eaters were ruthless, their tactics to kill indiscriminately, whether they be muggle or magical. Hypocritical of their ideology, more magical blood was spilled than muggle." " She quoted softly, the words flooding back to her. It hadn't made sense to her at the time, that the Death Eaters had been created to preserve magical blood, but yet more Purebloods had been killed than muggleborns or muggles.

He nodded slightly, his face sneering. "The Prewetts, the Bones, the McKinnons, the Potters, Rookwoods, and so on. More magical blood than muggle.

"It is my greatest failure to date."

Her jaw dropped. "I don't understand. What failed? Was killing them _not_ your intention?"

He sat down across from her, his eyes distant in memory. "When the killing curse I dispatched upon young Potter rebounded, I left the Potter home less than a human, less than a ghost, and lesser than a spirit. But I lived, and I reflected."

He continued on. "I fled to the forest of Albania, where I possessed a snake as my host and survived for thirteen long, miserable years. Waiting. But I did not waste my time doing nothing. I was encompassed in rage, scorning the magic that lead to my demise when I was at the peak of my power, where victory had been so close. Until your beloved Potter saved the day again, and something changed."

She raised her eyebrows at him, her mind yearning to know. What had taken this Dark Lord down a notch? He glared at her slightly before continuing, her expression abashed as she remember that he could read her mind. "In your second year, when Salazar's Chamber was opened, and my Basilisk was free to roam, the little Weasley girl who opened it had been in possession of one of my Horcruxes." Her jaw dropped again, and he nodded. "My diary, the one I had when I opened the Chamber back in my years at Hogwarts. It had been my second."

"What had been your first?" She asked, aghast. He'd already had two while he had been at Hogwarts?

He looked at his hand absentmindedly, raising it so she could see. "My family's signet ring that I took from my grandfather, Marvolo. The person I killed to make it was my father." For once, she was speechless. The black ring glitter tauntingly at her, and she slowly extended her magic out to feel the aura around it. Voldemort watched her face crumple at the completely dark taint that made contact with her magic, watching it recoil away quickly.

"By the beginning of the First Great War, I had achieved splitting my soul seven times. When I reflect back upon how things were then, I discovered that my perceived genius that had given me praise and followers while I was rising to power, had turned into insanity. Every spell I did on my Death Eaters attached more of my insanity onto them. They, in turn, terrorized the very community we had originally united to preserve." His face was impassive, but his voice was cold. This is what Severus had been talking about before, she realized.

" _As the war went on, he became different. Many of us cannot describe it. We had a purpose if we had to kill, but it slowly evolved into just killing everyone. I had thought, mistakenly, that those actions were what he really wanted, and I wanted it to stop."_

"So the more Horcruxes you had..?"

"The more my sanity slipped away." He nodded. "So much magical blood wasted. Remember when I told you that there were always absolutes?" She nodded slowly. "Horcruxes are the absolutes of what you consider dark magic. My quest of immortality was meant to ensure I could carry on the greatness of the Wizarding World. But I had begun destroying it in my quest for power. There are some powers not worth grasping." He concluded to her. "One can only split their soul so many times before it begins splitting more than just the soul. I was losing my logic, my goals. It was...is unacceptable." His fists were clenched. "When the curse rebounded, and my body destroyed, along with the diary being destroyed by Potter, my soul became more whole, and my sanity began to return. Not just to me, but to my followers as well."

It explained Bellatrix. It explained so much more. She waited, sensing he had more to say.

"When the battle at the Ministry in your fifth year took place, I dismantled two more of my Horcruxes myself. When I was brought back into my body, the image young Potter shared with you was just a side-effect of having a new body. I had to regrow my hair. My body took the form of the age I was of the oldest Horcrux, which was in my late 20s." His pale hand running fingers through his thick black hair. "But yes, I managed to lower my Horcruxes down to a manageable level."

"And now you have four." She finalized. He nodded slowly. "Why are you telling me this?"

"By marrying me, you cannot harm me, as that would violate the contract." He shrugged slightly. "You will be my Lady, and you are intelligent. I will continue researching how to achieve my immortality without costing my sanity. I expect that you will help me do that." To stop him from killing, Hermione was sorely tempted.

"Is that why you want heirs so badly? Because you fear for your mortality?"

He snorted at her. "I still have four Horcruxes, that is the maximum I can withstand without compromising my sanity." He rolled his eyes at her doubtful expression. "I want heirs because I want to expand my power. Having them will do that. Not to mention, the rejuvenation of our bloodline can secure us better alliances within the Wizarding World."

"My original plan still stands." He told her, watching her reactions slightly. "I want our world to unite and preserve strong, magical blood. I will not make the same mistake twice."

The answers she had thought he'd give her were not what she expected. Was this what Harry had been trying to tell her? She gasped out loud.

"That's what Dumbledore and Harry were doing! Finding your Horcruxes!" Voldemort's expression turned from relaxed to dangerous, and she could feel the room's temperature drop.

She scowled at him, and the temperature returned to normal after a while. "They went to a cave. That's all I really know. That's when...that's when your Death Eaters had found them."

Voldemort's face was still scowling. "That old fool never knew when to mind his own business. It would explain the reports I had gotten about his last moments alive. Both of them were out of their minds." He murmured to himself, ignoring Hermione for a moment.

There was a moment of silence, and Hermione silently mourned her best friend in her head as Voldemort sat deep in thought opposite from her. So many things had gone wrong for them throughout their years, and in the end, it had been for naught. He was gone, and Hermione was alienated from the Order anyways, so what good would having this information be for her? She still owed him her life, twice, and couldn't tell anyone regardless. She sighed.

"I have a question." She began, suddenly recalling her conversation with Bellatrix the night prior. "I have begun seeing things." She began to describe to him the odd shaped auras around both Bellatrix and the ones surrounding her pillow when she had woken up. "I thought I was dreaming or hallucinating at first," she said hesitantly. "But now I think it's something more."

Voldemort's face was impassive for a moment, the scowl he had when he had been talking about Dumbledore before was gone. "I have not personally encountered this phenomena." He admitted, his voice echoing his frustration. "Was there a repeat? For instance, the silvery wisps, as you whimsically named them, were you sleeping in the same manner? Peacefully or restless?"

She thought back at that night and the other night she'd thought she'd seen them. "I wasn't able to maintain my sleep," she said finally. "On both occasions I was sleeping restlessly. Do you think its' connected?" He nodded at her slightly.

"It is definitely something to research. I do, however, know of someone who has described something similar to me. I thought at first that they were insane, but harmless. I suppose it may just be a Ravenclaw trait. She is also a descendant of Rowena, though not as close and direct as you are." He added to her, snapping his fingers as a parchment appeared before them. "I will summon her here for tomorrow. I think, perhaps, you will enjoy it more than you think."

It was silent as he penned the note, a nearby hawk ready to take the message out for him. He sat back down, his gaze thoughtful on her face.

The silence reigned on, until.

"I want to discuss this contract." He said finally, steering the topic away from the prior conversation.

"What about it?"

"What made you think to give this to me?"

"It was a last second thing. To be quite honest, I didn't expect you to accept it so easily." She replied honestly. "Severus helped me put it together."

Voldemort was definitely amused. "How is it you managed to swindle him into your bidding?"

She shrugged. "I'm his 'Lady' apparently. No doubt his Slytherin mind is telling him to get into my good graces before we actually marry." Voldemort almost looked impressed, it was hard to tell with him.

"He is one of my more intelligent followers."

Hermione nodded absentmindedly, wandering towards the large window to stare down into the Manor grounds that were illuminated, before a memory startled her out of laziness. She grinned slightly, looking at Voldemort. He narrowed his eyes, a neat eyebrow raising slightly in question. She allowed the memory to flit through her mind, the taunting phrase sticking out to the otherwise fearsome Dark Lord.

" _You are the only person who has ever argued with him and walked away without being cursed into oblivion."_

His eyes narrowed at her as he stood up slowly. She swallowed slightly. It may be becoming easier to be casual around him, but the menacing way he stalked towards her, his movements fluid and with purpose. As he came closer, she had no choice but to back up against the window, the chilly glass emitting goosebumps on her skin. Caramel eyes met blood red, his face close to her. Voldemort seemed to really enjoy getting close to her to prove a point. Leaning close in her ear, she could hear the amusement in his voice very clearly. One of his hands was flat against the window by her head, the other hand firmly grasping her chin to look up at him. At his touch, Hermione felt her magic suddenly swell up, her body heat rising to her cheeks at his proximity. It startled her to realize that she no longer disliked the otherwise moody Dark Lord. Feared, yes.

"Tell me, Miss Selwyn." Uh-oh. She thought. His voice was definitely suspicious. It was too calm, too inviting. She maintained her gaze with suspicion. "You forgot to mention a very important detail in your little contract." Her eyebrows furrowed up at him. She'd asked Severus to cover every detail as to ensure Voldemort wouldn't have one up on her.

"Tell me," he repeated, the aura of his magic, the compatibility that made hers purr; it was so intoxicating that Hermione nearly had a hard time concentrating on what he was saying.

"Are you a virgin?"

She was pretty sure she was going to die on the spot, the heat rushing to her face for an entirely different reason as she began spluttering her outrage, embarrassment clear on her face. "What makes you think I have to tell you that?" Voldemort's face morphed into a gleeful, sinister smirk, and he used his body to pin her against the window, the hand that had been on her chin now gripping her hair firmly. Hermione felt the gentle tugging, but knew it could turn painful if he wished it. He leaned back towards her ear, his lips grazing the lobe slightly, before chuckling.

"Severus may be right that I have never punished you," He whispered. "But come after we marry, I will show you how I will discipline you, little virgin lamb."

Suddenly, he was gone, and Hermione felt flustered in more ways than one as she pondered on exactly what he meant.

* * *

That night, Hermione's dreams plagued her further. In some, she could see the disappointed faces of the people who once cherished her, their backs slowly turning on her one by one. They would all disappear, only to be replaced by the tall, dark figure of Voldemort, his red eyes taking control of her as his hand remained outstretched towards her. Just before she'd shot up, panting and covered in sweat and wide awake, she could see her magic reach out to him, always just out of his grasp.

Shaking her head, she laid back against the pillow, the sun shining through her windows and onto the scroll of her Marriage Contract, his name gleaming almost tauntingly at her at the bottom next to hers, essentially binding her to go through with it. Her eyes closed as she thought back to the feelings of last night, the intoxicating feelings of his magic, just the memory of it, creating shivers down her spine. It was confusing, to say the least; no one had ever invoked such feelings in her. She rolled over, her face in the pillow, and screamed in frustration. Damn Dark Lords.

Pulling herself out of bed, she walked over silently to the bathroom, pulling her head under the shower and smiling as the heat loosened the knots in her shoulders. Magical training had physically helped her a lot more than she anticipated, and the soreness was probably contributing to her restless nights. She hummed slightly before pulling herself out of the shower, wrapping herself in a fluffy towel. She had laid out her tight blue pants, the material a stretchable polyester that reminded Hermione of her muggle yoga pants. She pulled on the white tank top before grabbing the matching blue cardigan and pulling it on. It was modest enough that Narcissa wouldn't have a heart attack over it, and comfortable enough for Hermione to lounge around. Voldemort never trained her on Saturdays, instead allowing her a day of rest.

A soft knock echoed against her door, and Hermione was brought back to reality of the Ravenclaw that Voldemort had summoned. A delightful surprise it was, for her to open the door and see the familiar sight of the long-haired blonde girl with a relaxed expression smile back at her outside of her door.

"Luna!" Hermione smiled cautiously. She knew that Luna had left the Order, but to have her here was really throwing Hermione off kilter. "You joined the Death Eaters?" She asked, shocked.

Luna's face never wavered from its' serene gaze, her smile wider as she hugged Hermione. "No, no." She said, her soft voice easing the homesickness from Hermione's heart. "Daddy and I heard about what Dumbledore did to you. Daddy is all about justice and withdrew support for him publicly. You-Know-Who contacted us later and promised protection should we continue our research." She smiled happily. Luna was definitely dressing the pureblood witch part, her robes a pretty blue and her hair tied back into a long braid.

"He wrote to me and said you needed my help," she frowned, looking beyond Hermione's head. "I can see why, the Pebbled Thorntaks are very wild in your room. Have you been having problems sleeping?" Hermione's jaw dropped.

She was seeing what _Luna_ saw?

Speechless, she nodded slowly, showing Luna inside her bedroom. "Those silvery wisps are these...Pebbled Thorntaks?" The name sounded absurd on her lips.

Luna nodded dreamily. "Oh yes. They can be really troublesome. Do you have a house elf at your call?" She asked.

"Dusty!"

The little house elf appeared with his corresponding bows, giving his respect to Luna as well, who waved at the tiny creature. At Hermione's nod, Luna turned to the elf. "Can you bring us a pot with a sunflower in it please?"

"Dusty lives to serve the noble pure houses." The elf recited, popping out of view. It took only a couple of minutes for a medium sized pot with a decent sized sunflower to appear before her. Luna flicked her wand and the sunflower moved towards the window closest to Hermione's bed.

"That should do it!" She said happily. "The Pebbled Thorntaks flock to Earthly magic users," she explained, using her wand to gently water the plant. "But with more Earth near the user, the better they sleep. I used to have that problem all the time."

"Wait, wait." Hermione's brain was running. "Earthly magic users?" She quoted.

"Why of course!" Luna chirped. "You're obviously more attuned to the Earth. You probably do better in logic, such as Arithmancy, Transfiguration, and Potions, and you feel a lot better when you're outside, right?" At Hermione's perplexed nod, Luna continued. "I am too. When your magic is really, really attuned to the Earth, you begin seeing auras and forces that others can't. That's why I didn't really care if people called me loony." She added, waving away happily at Hermione's abashed face. "Daddy can see them too. I think only direct or close descendants of Ravenclaw can see them, and there aren't that many of us."

Hermione was fascinated. A entire branch of magical traits discovered, and no doubt her magical training would reveal more of them to her as time went on. "Why do I only occasionally see them though?" She asked curiously.

Luna frowned slightly. "Well, I can only guess." Her face went back to its' dreamy expression. "You need to accept your magic better."

"Accept my magic better?"

A nod. "You keep holding back. You should really try practicing your magic in the forest, with bare feet. Ground your magic, and don't hold back."

It had been, perhaps, the best visit Hermione had ever had since she first arrived at Malfoy Manor. Luna was more than eager to show the once reluctant witch everything she knew. When Hermione described what she saw near Bellatrix the night they spoke, Luna informed her that they were Bloffings, tiny creatures that indicated sincerity. Luna particularly liked these, as it made it easier to see who was genuine to her, and who wasn't. "It would explain why the Headmaster had these nearby sometimes." She said thoughtfully.

"So, if you're a support of Vol-You-Know-Who," she hastily corrected herself. It would be a cold day in hell before she willingly called him the Dark Lord. "Did Neville join too?" Expecting a denial, Hermione almost gasped out loud when Luna nodded.

"He didn't take the dark mark," said Luna whimsically, playing with the tiny pygmy puff she brought with her. "But he's been helping Professor Snape by providing rare and important plants for potion making. He also has been considering marriage proposals from some of the Death Eater's daughters."

Neville Longbottom had really grown into his looks, as Hermione recalled silently. No longer the awkward, forgetful boy who stumbled and couldn't do spells, Hermione had watched when he had taken his Defense Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T.s, and had been impressed on how much he had improved. No doubt being supportive of Voldemort's emerging regime would earn him brownie points in the Wizarding Aristocracy. After all, the Longbottoms were an old pureblood line.

"Are you going to be married soon, Luna?"

"Oh yes," came the dreamy reply, her blue eyes peaceful. "Soon. I've been asked by Rolf Scamander, who takes after his father's research, to marry him. He wants to be a part of my father's research, and the Wackspurts seem to enjoy his presence." Hermione nodded slightly.

"But what about love, Luna? Do you love him?"

There was a long pause as she turned her thoughtful eyes on the obviously troubled Hermione. "Sometimes, we have to guess and hope that we can grow to love one another." Luna smiled at her. "You don't know a lot about witches and wizard family lives, but often times our magic decides before we do. It was never really our choice. Mine has chosen Rolf. And his interests are the same as mine, so I foresee it being a good union."

"So, had Harry not died, and Ron and I..." Luna was already shaking her head.

"Ronald would have never been your equal. Your magic always rejected him. Whenever you did an offensive spell against him, like the canaries, they'd always be extra strong." Luna informed her happily, though Hermione chalked up the happiness to Luna's general demeanor, and not so much at the pain of the redhead.

Hermione sat back slightly, watching Luna play with the pygmy while she reflected. Voldemort hadn't been joking, she realized, when he had said he had never met a woman who matched him. It was their magic that made the choice for him. Voldemort treasured magical power and the instincts it gave him more than everything, so it was no wonder he chose her. That fact should've easily simplified her feelings for him, should have easily shelved him to the back of her mind as a marriage of convenience and cordiality.

So why was it her body kept flushing whenever she thought of him from last night?

* * *

 **How'd you like it folks? :) I know it's heating up, hope some of you don't mind. I don't think I will be placing explicit scenes into this fiction. If you would like some input, please go onto my profile and vote in the poll. It'll be a blind poll, so no one will see results until I've closed it. Please, read, review, like, favorite! I'd really appreciate it!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: I have to say, your reviews have really made my day when I woke up this morning. So kind and I really appreciate it. You can thank Ameretsu for their guest review, as I just can't let someone so exuberant be denied this chapter, and their comments really spurred my plot bunnies to accomplish chapter 12. I'm trying to see where I will take this fiction, as I really don't want it to be a 'and they lived happily ever after' bull, so be patient with me!**

 **Warning: Mature scenes, nudity, possible swearing, etc.**

 **Disclaimer: JK Rowling wishes she would have done what I'm doing. Not making a profit from it like she is though :/.**

* * *

"So what exactly are we doing, Luna?"

Luna had made her change into her loose fitting pants that stopped at her knees, the elastic ensuring they didn't fall out of place, and her white tank top. The sun was out today, so Hermione didn't really object to the exposure too much, enjoying the rare opportunity for sun. Luna was dressed as equally lackadaisical, humming softly to herself while walking with a slight skip to her step down towards the forest. While their attire was strange, the lack of shoes was really odd, especially when Luna began to move off of the pathway into the foliage of the trees, not caring about the dirt being caked on her soles.

Strangely enough, Hermione didn't mind it all that much either.

"We've got to help your magic, of course!" Luna replied dreamily, weaving through the trees with ease.

Hermione nodded warily. "Of course. What exactly does this entail?" She asked, almost afraid of the answer. While Luna's 'quirks' could now be explained logically, Hermione knew one of the main reasons Luna was a Ravenclaw was her entirely different way of approaching any situation, which was both a bane and a boon to those who knew her. Hermione wasn't even sure what she meant by helping her magic, as the remaining blocks placed by her former headmaster had been removed when she and Voldemort's magics had finally learned to harmonize.

Luna didn't answer, instead continuing to hum as she skipped further and deeper into the forest. It wasn't until they paused at a clearing in between four towering trees, to which the roots they had to climb over because of how enormous they were, that Luna turned towards her and gestured to the cozy clearing between the four. It consisted of packed, solid dirt, and Hermione watch warily once more as Luna grabbed a hold of a long, sturdy stick, and drew a large circle, with four smaller circles that aligned with the positions of the trees, and two slightly larger circles that lay opposite of one another. It was then Luna, while still humming, began drawing runes, but it wasn't normal rune drawing.

As the stick began to carve the correct motions, Luna's humming began in tune with the movements, the end of the stick glowing a light blue as she drew first between two smaller circles. She repeated the movements on the other side of the two smaller tree-circles, this time with the stick glowing a burning red color. When she went towards the larger circle side that was between two of the tree-circles, the runes she carved went on the edge of the largest circle and wrapped around the slightly larger circle, ending at the tree-circles. This color for Luna's side was white from the stick, and Hermione's side was a light green.

Looking back up at Luna, she watched her carve the runes for Fire, Water, Air, and Earth into the tree-circles, and then proceeded to carve the rune for unity in the middle of the largest circles. She looked back at Hermione and smiled dreamily. "Well, take it off."

Baffled, Hermione waved her hands. "Take what off?"

"Your shirt, of course!" How Luna could be so calm and treat something as going shirtless normal, Hermione would never know. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Why in the name of Merlin would I take off my shirt? We're outside!"

"You're here to center your magic and release everything holding you back," she said serenely, easily untying her braided hair and pulling off her own tank top, Hermione looking away and blushing. "Oh, come now Hermione. You're in nature, and the Mistmoars need to flourish in this ritual around us," she added in a serious tone. "They like it when human skin is touching the Earth. I usually go naked, but I know you wouldn't like that." She said dreamily, arranging her hair to cover her breasts.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably by the large tree trunk, huffing in irritation before turning her back on Luna and pulling off her white tank top hesitantly. Arranging her hair similarly to Luna's, thanking whatever deity that blessed her with thick, long hair she turned back to see Luna sitting cross legged in one of the circles that had white runes around it, her posture straight and comfortable. Feeling unused to the gentle breeze on her back, Hermione followed her gestures and mimicked Luna's position in the green rune circle, the trees around them dancing as the wind whistled through.

"Yes, this is just right," Luna remarked softly, her eyes bright. "The trees are glad you're here. Not many people are attuned to the Earth," she informed her, smiling as the runes around the circle began to pulse in their respective colors. "But you're holding yourself back, 'Mione. You need to _let go._ "

"But how do I do that?" What was she letting go?

"The Earth always knows what you need." She said sagely, closing her eyes and taking a deep breathe, her palms resting on her knees. The circle she sat in suddenly filled itself with white. Smiling, she stood up and walked over to Hermione, who was still sitting. "I need to draw runes on you using Earth, is that okay?"

Nodding carefully, Luna poured some water near the base of one of the trees, careful to not disturb the runic circle Hermione sat in. Bringing back the mud, she began to write the runes on her feet, a large runic symbol for earth on the tops, with connecting, smaller runic lines reaching up to her knees. She made Hermione lean back, allowing her to paint another large symbol on her navel, smaller runic lines circling it, reminding Hermione of how she would draw the sun as a child once Luna began to paint waving lines diverging out of the circle on her stomach. A central line from the circle on her navel continued up between her breasts, where Luna calmly branded Hermione with three large runes in the center of her chest and just above each breast; these were also circled by smaller runic phrases and each circle was connected in one line. Hermione could feel more runic lines being carefully applied to her neck, with two of them traveling upwards to her face, over her cheeks, and over her eyelids to connect to another large rune that was encircled on her forehead. The tops of her hands and her shoulders also bore large runes that were circled by the runic lines, connecting her entire body together in a runic equation almost. The center of her back was the last to have a large rune encircled, with seven runic lines running down the circle and ending in a cascading pattern.

Luna stepped back, hands still muddy, but with a content smile on her face. "Now you're read to converse with the Earth for the first time."

"What are you-?" But then Luna was gone. Hermione was still surrounded by the towering four trees, the white runic circle still glowing in front of her while the other three circles were pulsing with their respective colors. Hermione looked around, but even she knew not to disturb an active runic ceremony, even if she didn't know what was happening.

"H-Hello?" She called out uncertainly. She blinked.

There was absolutely no way that Harry Potter could be sitting across from her in the very place Luna once occupied.

"Harry?" Eyes watering as the man staring back at her smiled slightly. He looked the same, but still different. The weight of the world no longer was holding his shoulders down, and the angry tension he always carried was missing. Green, kind, sad eyes stared back at her.

"It's good to see you again, Hermione."

"But this is impossible." She spluttered. "One cannot bring back the dead!"

"I haven't been brought back," he corrected, a small smile gracing his face. "Luna was kind enough to connect you to the true magical core of the Earth. I'm not very sure how it all works, but you'll probably get your explanation when the time comes. But," he paused for a moment as she looked to interrupt him. "That's not why I'm here."

"I know what Dumbledore did to you," Harry began, watching her posture stiffen. "I know that you've suffered, that you've sacrificed what you thought to be your moral beliefs, to turn to Voldemort as a means for salvation." Hermione looked down, biting her lip as she fought the weighing pressure in her heart. Leave it to Harry to know the root of the problem. "I also know that you're going to be marrying him soon."

Face stricken, her face crumpled. "I know he killed your parents Harry, I know he was responsible for your death. I don't understand what's happening half the time and I-" He held up a hand, stopping her for a moment.

"It's okay."

She stared at him blankly. He laughed, tossing his head back and further messing up his already unkempt shaggy hair. "Is it so hard to believe that I want you to be happy? Even if it's with him?"

"B-but.." she began weakly. "It's Voldemort."

"But even you've heard what he had to say," Harry added, his face smiling. "The Voldemort from then is no longer. Perhaps it would be unfair to paint him as the same person. Remember how Bellatrix used to be?" He didn't need to add any further comment, as both of them knew exactly how Bellatrix used to be once upon a time.

"But...I still don't understand." She said, her face troubled. The wind was still blowing gently, and she could feel the dry mud of runic script all over her body acutely. "I mean, I'm so happy to see you, but why have you been brought to me?"

Harry's eyes turned serious, his rounded glass and hair parting to reveal his famous lightening bolt scar reminding Hermione, in her very distant memory, of a boy denied the life he deserved. "You're not letting go Hermione."

"But what _is_ letting go?" She replied in frustration.

"You're holding yourself back." He said bluntly. "You have potential, and the Earth knows it. But you tie yourself down on shaky foundations you built instead of going back to your roots." He waggled his eyebrows at the pun as she deadpanned him. "I am meant to be the first of three messages to give you, to help you embrace all that you can be. It's really quite an honor for The Boy Who Lived." He grinned.

"What message are you meant to give?"

His eyes became distant, and his voice, ethereal as the voices of many people spoke with him, the magic swirling around them gently. "Return to the Origin and find the root." He smiled back at her sadly. "I wish I could explain more, but it's for you to find out. I love you Hermione, and I hope to not see you where I am for many, many more years to come." He waved his hands as Hermione's tearful and confused eyes met his, and slowly Harry Potter vanished from her sight for the very last time.

"Return to the Origin and find the root." She murmured to herself, feeling the annoying etchings of confusion enter her mind. She shook her head. "I am meant to have two more people give me two separate messages, best I wait." She nodded to herself and looked up, a choking sound caught in her throat as her heart stopped at the two figures in front of her.

William and Jean Granger should not be in front of her right now.

"Mum...? Dad..?" Her voice croaked out. She'd sent them off as Wendell and Monica Wilkins as a form of protection from the Death Eaters back when she had thought she was a muggleborn. Their memories had been irreversible. If they appeared before her now, then that meant...

"No..." She whispered, her eyes disbelieving. Her adoptive mother nodded her head sadly.

"Our plane never made it to Australia, Hermione." She said, her face sad as William Granger kept an arm around his wife. Hermione's posture went lax, tears leaking out of the corner of her eyes.

"So I failed."

"No, sweetheart." It was her dad this time who intervened. "We lived our lives. It was our time to go, whether we wanted to or not. We get to help you when you need it the most." He added, a wrinkled smile on his face. Even though they weren't her real parents, Hermione liked to think she looked like them anyways. They raised her and loved her, and now they were here to help her.

"Did...did it hurt?" She asked brokenly. "I didn't want anything to happen to you two. I was trying to keep you safe."

"And you did a wonderful job darling." Her mother said, eyes sincere. "Like your father said, it was simply our time. And it was painless. We can't even remember." She teased, laughing at Hermione dropped jaw.

"Anyways, Hermione, sweetheart." Her father rumbled, his eyes serious as the trees began their dance again. "We've seen all that's happened. Your friend informed us in the best way we could understand. I'm sorry that this is happening to you. As a father, it's hard to not be able to protect you."

"Even if I'm not really your daughter?" she said, her face miserable. She never thought she'd have to actually discuss the fact that she wasn't their biological daughter to their faces. Now they stood before her, knowing everything she tried so hard to keep from them, her fists clenching on her knees as she awaited judgment. It was just a small, gentle feeling on her face, but she could still feel the hand of Jean Granger cradling her daughter's face.

"You will _always_ be my daughter." She said firmly, her voice warped with emotion. "You can be Rosemary Selwyn's daughter and mine. She brought you into this world and loved you, and then passed on that job to me. If there had been one thing I had wished for when you turned eleven, it was the wish that I could possess magic too so that I could understand, and that you wouldn't feel the need to choose between your old life and your new life."

"You have that opportunity now, Hermione." Her father added, his hand on her other cheek as her wide eyes drank in the last sight of her parents she'd ever see. "You have people who want to be your family, who are genuine." Flashes of Bellatrix, Narcissa, and even Draco Malfoy appeared in her head. "You need to _let go._ "

"But they're not the same."

"No, they aren't." He agreed with an incline of his head. "But families aren't all the same universally. It may be that we can no longer be with you, and you may feel attached to the memories that we shared together. No one is asking you to forget that. But it doesn't mean you can't make new memories, happy memories, with the people you have."

"Which is why we have been chosen to give you the second message," her mother finished, smiling as both of their eyes turned distance, the ethereal voices returning once more. "The bare branches are the strongest. To reach the Origin, you must shed the wilting ones." As they faded, murmuring words of love and encouragement, Hermione felt herself remain alone once more in the clearing of runes. There was not a doubt to her mind what their message was. They wanted her to shed her skin. The bare branches were for her new family. But what on Earth was the _Origin_? She heaved a shuddering breathe, resolving to mourn for her parents later on when the time was right. But the Earth had one more message to give her, so she waited.

Though they'd never met before, it wasn't hard for Hermione to deduce the woman sitting across from her, one so similar to the ghost she'd met before.

"I am Rowena Ravenclaw." She smiled serenely, her curly hair nearly identical to Hermione's. With bright blue eyes filled with knowledge and wisdom, Rowena Ravenclaw looked just a regal and powerful as the legends that complimented her. "It is good to see an heir so entwined with my bloodline traits." Her voice was soft, almost reminding Hermione of Luna.

Hermione nodded slowly. "I'm afraid I haven't been a very good heir," she admitted, her face frowning in disappointment. "I've failed so much."

Rowena laughed. "And you think I have not?" Startled, Hermione raised an eyebrow.

Sighing, the woman shook her head. "Even the founders of old can make mistakes. Even Merlin himself made them. History likes to cover up the mistakes of its' Heroes and glorify the flaws of villains. They never _quite_ get it right, do they?" A corner of her mouth tipped upward in amusement as Hermione remembered Rita Skeeter's slandering media that blew much of her personal life out of proportion. Hermione nodded slightly in agreement, her face thoughtful, but Rowena continued.

"I did not stop my daughter from making the wrong decision." Her face was mournful. "I had not been the best mother, and never knew she had been in love with Aldrich. I never knew that the Baron and my daughter were on poor terms. It is funny, is it not," she added with a sad, wary smile as she tapped the little crown on her head. "My diadem can enhance my already formidable intelligence, but it could not give me better motherly intuition, and I died knowing the man I sent after my daughter had killed her." The mournful face was back.

"You mean the Bloody Baron...?"

"Yes." She said acidly. "The Baron ghost at Hogwarts was madly in love with my daughter. I saw nothing wrong with his character, and Salazar and I were on good terms. He spoke highly of Baron, so I saw no issue. But I did not see, and then she was gone. Poor Aldrich had to raise his son alone." She said sadly, her face in deep remorse before morphing back into its' serene smoothness. "But now you stand before my as my heir of many generations. And now it is time I play my part."

She took a deep breathe. "Earth magic has always ran in our bloodline. It has grounded us and reminded us that we are not invincible, to remind us where we came from."

"The root." Hermione said slowly.

Rowena nodded slightly. "Your heart beats because of the magic inside of you. Without it, your magic can no longer be bound to your body, so where does it go?" Hermione pushed into her mind, thinking back to all her lessons before stopping suddenly. Her head shot up from her revere, gasping.

"The Origin."

"And that is...?"

"The Earth."

"So then, what is the root?"

Furrowing her brow, Hermione thought back once more. "If the Origin is the Earth," she began slowly, the puzzle pieces coming together in her head. "And our Earth magic serves as a purpose to remind us of the root, then the root is...our purpose?"

"Was that a question or answer?" She teased the smaller brunette.

"The root is the purpose of magic. The purpose we carry." Hermione said with a bit more finality, one piece of the riddle solved. "But what is the purpose the root holds?"

Rowena shrugged delicately, her face replicating Luna's dreamy look. "That's up to you. What do _you_ want it to be?"

Hermione frowned. "I...I don't know." She admitted, feeling small. "It used to be to protect Harry in the war, to marry Ron, and eventually pursue some career." She stopped for a moment when Rowena laughed, Hermione's eyes flashing with irritation.

"My dear heir, you were meant for so much more than what was average." She cooed, the mirth evident in her tone. "Fate saw your intentions for mediocrity and adjusted the path accordingly. It seems you are as stubborn as Mr. Riddle is when it comes to fate's decisions." At Hermione's raised eyebrows, Rowena grinned. "I know all about him We all know, and we watch and watch. I know you like to believe that you can create your own fate, but despite your time travels, one way or another, the true purpose of anyone, including you, _will_ happen one way or another."

Hermione's shoulders dropped. "But this can't be right."

"Can't it?" A wary smile in place. "Whatever do you mean?"

Hermione was ready for her tirade. "I was considered the Gryffindor golden girl, the brightest witch of her age, the one who took a moral high ground, and fought on the side of the light." She rushed out, her emotions pouring into her every being. "But now I'm about to marry a man considered to be the darkest, most dangerous person to walk the Earth, and am currently associating with many who are dark and possibly bigots."

Rowena laughed again, and Hermione felt the first desire to throw a spell at the witch for the first time in their chat. "My dear, what is _wrong_ with that? Why should you change what is fundamentally you to be the same as everyone else? By associating with someone who you deem different than you, have you ever considered aligning your ways and beliefs with theirs?" Hermione thought back to Bellatrixs' dual personalities, Draco's manipulations, or Voldemort's indifference towards his theory of magical hierarchy. She met Rowena's smile with a tentative one of her own. She could _never_ turn into that.

"You were never meant for mediocrity." Rowena repeated. "No one is asking you to change yourself."

"So then, why was I brought here to this ritual?"

"Because you will not _let go._ " Rowena emphasized. "Which brings me to the conclusion of our visit, Miss Selwyn." The voices were coming back as her eyes became distance, and Hermione's posture straightened as she focused on the last piece of her puzzle.

"To seek the Origin, walk with the wind."

And then it clicked, and she understood.

* * *

Luna looked up, her hand still cupping the flower shaped wisp that sat contently in her reassuring palms. After Hermione had gone deep into the ritual, Luna knew she had played her part and bowed herself out until she was done hearing what she needed to hear. She could hear it now, smiling serenely to herself, what she had been waiting for. The wind's whistling became more organized, a magnificent song bursting through the air, the currents of the wind being broken as wild magic scattered gloriously throughout the entire forest. She stood up as the wisps hovered near hear.

Stepping out from between the four trees, Hermione emerged with a serene smile. Her eyes were golden, flecks of it sparkling through caramel as she looked around the forest in wonder. Her journey wasn't complete yet; she still had to seek the Origin. Taking one step out, she grinned when small flowers began immediately sprouting beneath her feet, expanding forward. As she walked by the plants towards Luna, they'd bloom instantly, following her movement. Luna smiled back at her.

"It's okay, it won't do that all the time. The magic is just welcoming you." She said dreamily, her posture relax amid the rushing of magic.

Hermione nodded, staring at her hands in wonder. There was so much to learn. Nodding at Luna, she smiled. "I know what I need to do now. Can you go back to the Manor and let him know? I'm meant to be training with him in an hour, but I'll need a bit longer than that." Nodding happily, Luna began walking in the direction of the manor, pausing when Hermione called out to her again.

"You may want to put your shirt on." Hermione yelled. "Or you may just give them a heart attack."

She watched Luna laugh, pulling on a shirt as she skipped away towards the manor. Hermione guessed she'd probably arrive within the next forty-five minutes, so Voldemort should know before their scheduled meeting time that she wouldn't be arriving. She turned towards the direction the flowers on the forest floor were blooming, her magic enriched with the Earth pushing her towards the same direction. Taking a deep breath, she began to run.

The elation and rush of magic that filled her was so intoxicating, nearly propelling her off her feet. She was running faster than she ever head, every step she was taking bloomed into small web of flowers that marked her journey. She pushed on her magic, the feeling not as intense, not as concentrated as it should be. She could see what they were talking about, what she needed to let go. With every step, she began.

A step of hydrangeas. _I promise to give Bellatrix and the Malfoys a chance to be my family._

A step of peonies. _I promise to work against my doubts._

A step of tulips. _I promise to dedicate myself to who I want myself to be._

A step of lilies. _I promise to never forget who my real friends were, and move on from my past._

A step of a single rose. _I promise to give him a chance._

With every resolve, every promise that she signed herself away upon, Hermione's smile turned into full blown laughter as she continued to run through the forest. Ordinarily, being topless and covered in mud-written runes would bother her, but to feel thepure **life** the emitted from every surface of the forest had so much more meaning to it. The gusts of wind stopped, and Hermione felt her feet slow into a steady walk. The pitter-pattering of a nearby busy stream and the chirping of birds nearby only increased the cleansing feeling she was getting as she walked closer and closer to an opening in the dense forest.

Outstretched before her was the most beautiful and tranquilizing expanse of open field before her, with a calm rush of a stream from an unknown source further in the forest dumping into the clearest water Hermione had ever seen in the wild before. Completely untouched and unmarred by human interaction, one would think this held her attention the most. But Hermione's eyes never left the creatures grazing in the plentiful fields of green, her eyes almost hurting at the scene before it.

It was so damn _amazing_.

The unicorns were not like the ones in the Forbidden Forest. When she had read up on magical creatures, Bartholomew Dejesus, a famous Magical Creature expert, had remarked upon several legends behind the sightings of Unicorns that had often contradicted themselves. The ones in the forest were still beautiful, still pure, but they had been tainted by the magical constraints that had bound the forest under the Ministry's control, rather than under the control of the magical creatures. Because of that, Unicorns in the Forbidden Forest were bearable to look at, almost like common horses, and their pure magic radiation was kept a the bare minimum. Seeing the beauty before her, tasting the pure aura of magic that made her magic sing louder to the heavens, Hermione had to agree with Dejesus' conclusion: Unicorns in the Forbidden Forest lived a very sad life.

The largest of them turned its' head towards her and began to trot in her direction, the others following behind. In total, there were seven: the most powerful number in magic. The head Unicorn stopped a meter away from her, cocking its' head questioningly. Hermione nodded once, smiling slightly.

"I understand now," she began softly, the magic around her quelling in the presence of the Unicorns as to not disturb the tranquility. " 'Return to the Origin and find the root.'" She quipped, remembering Harry's retelling. "You're the Origin. The Origin of all magic." The Unicorn did not acknowledge her answer, staying still with it's almost painfully beautiful gaze still upon hers. But she did not flinch away.

"Since finding out about my magical abilities, what I'm capable of, who I've been around, I've only seen darkness. Dark magic, dark people, differences that I always criticized could be worked out suddenly, my own ideologies and beliefs didn't apply to me." She confessed. "All I could think about was how they were ruining me, but they weren't. _I_ was ruining _me._ " She felt a weight lift off her heart at the spoken revelation, eyes widening as the Unicorn stomped it's hoof twice. So she continued.

" 'The bare branches are the strongest. To reach the Origin, you must shed the wilting ones.'" She repeated the second message the Earth had given her. "It was my stubbornness, wasn't it?" She wasn't really expecting an answer for this one. "I kept holding onto what I wasn't and not embracing the new offerings that came to me. I held onto my old family without allowing a new one to grow and help me get better." She thought of the hurt face of Narcissa when she flinched away from her touch. "I held onto my old friends, even though they hurt me and there were those who wanted to be there for me." She thought of Draco, and of Bellatrix, and thought of Ron and Ginny's immediate rejection of her despite her justifications and evidence.

"I couldn't let go of my old teacher that hurt me for a new one that encouraged my growth and to expand my perceptions." Dumbledore and Voldemort in the same memory still bothered her, but it was no longer out of fear for battle. She felt the sliver of attachment for the old Headmaster to float away from her, feeling relieved, she concluded. "I let my bias blind me, and that has hurt my growth. I had to shed my bias while maintaining the strong branches I already had, but had never invested a more beautiful growth in. I needed to trim away the wilting branches that were killing me." The pain of losing Remus as an ally was fading. The Unicorn rewarded her with a neigh, and stomped three times this time.

Nodding, she smiled. "'To seek the Origin, walk with the wind.'" The feeling of serenity was slowly seeping into her every being now. "To walk with the wind, you have to be flexible but constant. The wind throughout history has always been a constant factor. There will _always_ be wind. It will always exist and somewhere in the world, it will flow. I need to be constant." She remembered her conversation with Rowena Ravenclaw and smiled again. "It's entirely possible for me to keep myself, my morals and beliefs, but I need to learn to be flexible. Earth is about being sturdy, but I guess fate likes to be amused by giving me opposite elemental natures in one body."

Luna had been Earth and Water, which worked well together. To have completely opposite elements as a part of ones magic was extremely rare. But so was being a direct descendant of Ravenclaw. The Air was meant to help her not sink too much into the Earth.

"I need to accept myself, but accept the changes around me and adapt to maintain myself." She concluded with an air of finality. "That's what the Earth was telling me. In order to get to you, to the Origin, to reach the eclipse of Earth, the root. I had to _let go_ of the binds I placed on myself, the emotional, physical, and mental binds that held me back from my full potential."

It was silent.

Thinking back to yesterday, Hermione would have never thought that inquiring about strange wisps would lead her into such a rarely studied branch of magic, or that she'd even get the opportunity to delve into its' arts.

" _My dear, you were never meant for mediocrity."_

She smiled warily to herself. Rowena Ravenclaw sure had a way of predicting the future. The only way she'd ever be able to study and understand the world that was unseen almost everyone in the world, to be able to understand _Luna's_ world, she needed this. It wasn't just studying a book or flicking a wand, it was the pure essence of magical learning, straight from the masters.

Soft hoof beats on the ground startled her out of her thoughts as she gazed closer to the Unicorn that was mere inches from her face. It didn't hurt anymore to look at the pristine creature, and the moment it make contact with the large runic circle in the middle of her head, Hermione's magic exploded around them in unbridled euphoria. She could feel the rushing in her veins; the feeling she had prior when she was running in the forest was not even close to a comparison. There were no boundaries. Everywhere she looked now, she could see what Luna had been talking about. Wisps attached themselves to everything. The white aura around the Unicorns even had tiny wisps, their whispers inviting Hermione to them.

" _Embrace us."_ They crooned. _"Reunite with the Earth."_

Hermione wrapped her arms gentle around the long neck of the Unicorn, letting out the longest breathe she'd been holding. The relief she gained felt like the release of pent up excitement for a moment that took years in the making to come to an epic conclusion. She supposed it was years in the making, even if she hadn't knowingly pent up her excitement for it in that time. The soft, silky skin of the Unicorn felt so relaxing, Hermione imagined being able to fall asleep on it and never wake up, even in the loudest of storms.

She could feel the Earth now. This is what the root was. An apex of magical connections wired through each and every creature, plant, and atom within her view. The trees were breathing with life, life an ordinary wizard would never be able to detect. How casually she'd walked by the trees, how could she had missed the magic they emitted, the _emotion_ of the trees. The forest was _alive_ and it didn't need magical creatures for it to be so.

The Unicorn turned away slightly, bowing its' head to her. The Origin had grounded her, reminded her of the root. And the root reaffirmed her purpose. Its' job was done. Nodding, Hermione turned away, before turning to her free-floating magic, the wisps dancing happily along the blissful waves it created in the air. Allowing the refreshing feeling to wash over her face, Hermione focused, her mind incredibly sharp with concentration, the stress having been melted away with her confrontations of her inner self. With a pull almost too easily done, she opened her magical core, and so the entire forest began to sing her song as she danced on the winds of her magic back into the trees.

* * *

The sun was starting to set.

She was still dancing, but something was still _missing._

Turning her head towards a large hill that poked out from the treeline, she could see him and grinned to herself. It was time to start embracing her promises. Reaching out with her magic, she watched as it took its' flighty form, this time in a smooth white color, shooting forward towards the figure. It danced in circles around him before shooting upwards, this time joined with a black raven that matched the dance gracefully. She let out a peal of laughter, running quickly before almost skipping to a stop in front of none other than an extremely baffled Dark Lord.

Humor dotted her eyes as she looked up at him, her magic still dancing with his above them. "You missed me that much that you decided to come find me?"

Red eyes flickered to hers, before slowly traveling down her body. "I see your noon meeting with Miss Lovegood was...eventful." Riding too high on the euphoria that she gained by learning, it took Hermione a minute to realize that she was naked from the waist up. She unsuccessfully hid her blush, thanking once more that her hair was thick and long enough to cover her. Her body was still completely covered in the runes, and Hermione had an amused reminiscence of _Where the Wild Things Are_ moment.

"I suppose I do look quite frightening." She admitted.

"Quite." He parroted back, his face passable for amusement. "So you discovered your elements." He looked around them for a moment, looking impassively at their dancing magics harmonizing above them. Hermione could tell that he had an attachment to the Earth, almost chuckling at the irony of a man who obviously never wanted to leave. But his second element was unfamiliar to her, and she extended her hand outwards and touched his face, ignoring his raised eyebrows in order to concentrate of the new connection to the elements the magic gave her. Suddenly, her body began to flush, and she withdrew her hand accusingly.

"Earth and Fire." She smiled. "Typical Dark Lord. 'If you can't build it, light it on fire!'" she quipped, laughing at her own joke. The high of magical excitement was slowly winding down, seeing as how she had been interacting with it for quite some time and her physical body was starting to wear down as well.

"Have you ever just stopped and celebrated having magic?" She asked seriously.

He looked back down at her with an amused expression. "I have celebrated many achievements in magic, yes." But Hermione shook her head.

"You said it before. We are the exception. But it might not have been us. Fate could have chosen differently. Have you ever just let out your magic completely and just..." Hermione trailed off, unable, for once, to voice the beauty she'd experienced beforehand when she unlocked her core completely to be free to the elements. Voldemort seemed to seriously consider her for a moment, and she felt the fleeting pleasure of the Earth as she fought back her apprehension she felt whenever she saw his face. He nodded slowly.

"Want to...?"

"I think," he began slowly. "It would be best to do so another time. Your body has been physically and emotionally through excruciating magical exposure. Even when I discovered-" He stopped for a moment, remembering himself. Hermione was immediately reminded of the oft free feelings she emitted whenever her magic elated her too much, and it seemed Voldemort was feeling it too. She grinned slyly.

"So the big Dark Lord had to take a nap after his elemental discoveries?" She was teasing the most dangerous wizard in the world. Magical highs should be illegal; they were going to get her most definitely killed. She mocked stretched, raising her arms high. "I went for quite the run. I probably have more energy to-"

Voldemort _really_ liked pinning her to objects.

His chuckles vibrated along his chest, which was pressed against her body, pinning her against the tree as their magics continued their zen-like formation. "You may have had the advantage of coming into your element at a young age, but I have had _decades_ to perfect mine." He hissed in her ear. His words set her very soul on fire, and she found that the magical high was only heightening her every sense. He was making her body flush against him, her body arching to be closer to his. Just by touching her, licks of heat teased along her ribs and up her neck, and Hermione was concerned, for a moment, that she'd have a permanent blush along her face.

They didn't need to tell each other all the details of what had happened to her in the forest. He knew. He _understood._ She didn't have to dumb it down or expect to be talking to wall. The magic he performed was driving her crazy.

"You don't know crazy yet."

The heat flickered further down her breasts, the licks teasingly taunting her as they traveled to her navel, Hermione squirming against his pinned body against hers. He had her hands up above her again, a leg positioned in between hers that was simultaneously grinding against a completely different center, one Hermione had been trying to ignore since she remembered the entire process of making a family. The squirming he was causing her body to react into only caused her to rock her hips against his, sending shivers that not even the flames could suppress down her spine. His mouth was on her neck, and the small bites he began administering had her magic dancing erratically around them.

"You'll come to appreciate how gifted I am from my practices." He punned, not even allowing Hermione to roll her eyes in jest as the precipice of pleasure jolted through her body; his flames having reached their destination against her clit, flicking teasingly as her body writhed against his. With the orgasm ripping through her system, and a half laugh half moan choked itself from her before she slumped against him, exhausted and slowly descending into unconsciousness.

Pulling her head down against his shoulder, the Dark Lord easily pulled the half naked female into his arms, summoning a blanket to shield her from the elements as the sun began to sink behind the horizon in farewell. He turned with the exhausted Hermione his arms, watching and remembering, the elation his magic had given him when he had discovered his own. As he turned, he felt the farewell of the trees and the calming of Hermione's magic as it settled with the setting sun.

* * *

 **Totally wasn't expecting this chapter to go the way it did. Kinda went nuts with it people. I really hope you liked it, 'cause I just had so many ideas about the elemental magics and how to tie it in so I wanted to make a strong foundation for later chapters. Anyways, review, like, favorite, etc.!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: I am so** **so** **sorry my dear friends over forcing you to wait quite a while for an update on this story. I originally was going to start on it a week after the last chapter was** **posted, but then my family had issues going on, school started back up, and then later my city was hit head on by Hurricane Hermine, and while it was only a category one, it messed up a ton of our power lines because we have trees everywhere, and I was** **out of internet for quite some time. Not to mention the stress of University. But, alas, I have found the time to feed your desires and will continue. I will try better about the updates.**

 **Warnings: Swearing, mature scenes, anxiety, etc.**

 **Disclaimer: I** **don't own Harry Potter sadly, because if I did, Romione would never be a thing.**

* * *

The crackling of fire and the sweet smell of coffee alerted Hermione back into the world of the living and the awake. Eyes bleary, she sat up, rubbing the sleep away while slowly taking in her surroundings. It was a blanket of warmth in the room, a combination of the fire crackling in the fireplace and the peaceful humming of magic in the air cocooning around her small body protectively, and the gently, faint heartbeat of the Earth felt so relaxing in the back of her mind. She was lying on a very cushioned mattress, with one of the softest, blackest throws she'd ever felt before evenly covering her whole body. The wooden bed frame was equally black, delightfully contrasting the white mattress and sheets that felt silky to the touch.

She looked at her arm, puzzled for a moment; the runes Luna had drawn on them were gone. Soft fingers touched her face, sliding down to her chin to pull her gaze up towards the left side of the bed. Hermione had almost forgotten about the fire in the room: she wasn't alone. She struggled for a moment, thinking of words to say as her brain began to reprocess what had happened earlier on. It was dark now, no doubt.

"You fainted." He provided the answer to the question in her head. "Magical exertion and overexposure did quite a number to your body. Had your body not already made the proper adjustments to your high levels of magic, you could have quite possibly burned yourself." His voice was tinted with amusement, though whether it was from the mental image of her possible spontaneous combustion or over her rather amusing streak through the forest, she wasn't sure.

"What was that at the end, before I passed out?" She peered up at him, her honey eyes glowing mischievously in the firelight. The grip on her chin tightened slightly. "And..." she trailed off, noticing for the first time since she woke up that she was completely naked. "Afterwards...?" A blush.

His eyes were tinted with amusement. "I did not defile you while you slept. Well," He corrected himself. "Not to the extent your mind is taking it. After you fell unconscious, I returned you here and cleaned you." At the sight of her blush increasing, he smirked. "I must say, I have a lot to look forward to." Hermione huffed.

"So tell me," He began smoothly, his back leaning against the base of the bed, his eyes never wavering from hers. Hermione's back stiffened as she felt the too familiar coil of his magic permeating the room, a tell-tale sign of not good things. She pulled the throw to her chest, her modesty kicking in gear alongside her awakening brain, a blush bright on her face as Voldemort's red eyes bore into what felt like her very soul. "You must have had some exploits with Potter and the Weasley boy."

Hermione, having been entirely enamored with her nakedness and his unflinching gaze, nearly missed the bold statement. She narrowed her eyes at him, pushing away his coiling magic with her own. "I beg your pardon?"

Red eyes narrowed. "I didn't hear a no."

"Is that even your business?

"I have a right to know."

"No, you're just being nosy." Hermione snorted after a moment, realizing what she said. "Ha, get it, because your nose-."

"Not another word Selwyn," he hissed at her, his magic pushing back against her own. "You still have not answered the question." He pushed off from the base of the bed and moved towards her languidly. "Did you love Potter? How interesting, would it be, if he knew you were dallying with his old nemesis. Or was it the blood traitor Weasley? Perhaps," he added slyly, his eyes never leaving hers, enjoying the fire that flared up with each assumption. "You had them both-."

"If you value the architectural integrity of this bedroom, you will not finish that speculation." She hissed back, hands clenching the softness of the blanket. "How dare you?"

Voldemort smirked, his hands spread out as if to defend himself. She wasn't fooled, she knew he wasn't the least bit apologetic. "I _am_ to be your husband after all." His eyes remained unblinking, and Hermione realized that it was she who was in control now. Her face smoothed out, the blush that had already been on her face due to her physical state of being was now working in her favor, deepening, not in embarrassment or shyness, but in an attempt to not laugh. She twirled a curl around her finger nonchalantly, her eyes uncaring.

"And if I did?"

Red eyes narrowed again, the humor in the Dark Lord's face completely gone. But Hermione was on a roll now, eager to get him back for his crass words; it no longer mattered that she was perpetually playing with possible maiming at this point.

"Perhaps it wasn't even Harry or Ron," she continued, her eyebrows raised at him. "You don't know what I did at Hogwarts. I was a Prefect. Students in my year looked... _up_ to me, so to speak, on their knees." It was a rush of power, to slide that innuendo in the face of one of the most powerful wizards in the world, to see his nostrils flaring in irritation, the snake-feel of his magic hissing against her arms, knowing he desired her. "After all, the countless amount of requests I had to help with homework, surely you don't think I tutored for free?" The pressure in the room was significantly thicker, but Hermione paid it no mind as her own magic protected her.

"Of course, there was also all of Ron's brothers."

His hand was on her neck, but she wasn't choking, but his gaze was even more furious, darkening into even more irritation when she chortled at him. He was straddling her body, the blanket still covering most of her, but this time her hands had been magicked to the headboard above her head. His magic had pushed hers aside, sliding all around her, wrapping itself around her body.

"I do not appreciate being toyed with, Hermione." He hissed quietly in her ear, their magic still warring with each other, raising goosebumps on her skin. "Does this mean I do not have to wait for our wedding night?" He smirked as her breathing hitched, his mouth moving to her neck, his hand moving away slowly. "You are, after all, so experienced." The sarcastic undertone he murmured towards her when her blush genuinely deepened, and she began pulling at her hands, willing her magic to release her from his grasp, as he began pulling down the throw blanket that preserved her modesty.

"And I do not appreciate being objectified." She hissed back at him, her voice faltering as his mouth discovered a more sensitive spot on her neck. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back, allowing him more access to the sensitive spots that he seemed to find so easily. Their magic resumed their dance of push-and-pull, and before Hermione could be swept up in their harmony, she lifted her knee and pushed the Dark Lord off of her slowly. Opening her eyes to amused red ones, she blushed, before turning her nose upward in snobbery.

"Regardless of my...experiences," she began, rolling her eyes when he hissed. "Of which there have been none. You knew that before you even started this conversation, don't think I forgot our prior conversation about you rejoicing about my being your 'virginal lamb'. Nevertheless," she added hurriedly, as smug satisfaction permeated his face. "Had I the experience, I still would much prefer to have my first time with my first husband on my wedding night. I am sure you, as powerful as you claim, can control yourself until that time." It was a challenge, and Hermione very well knew it. Raising a slender eyebrow at him, she struggled, but succeeded, on keeping her face blank.

How interesting, she thought idly in her head, of how much Voldemort revealed his struggles in his eyes. Too many people focused on the face, but just as his bright red eyes betrayed the extent of his use with the dark arts, his eyes betrayed his emotions as well. They _are_ the windows to the soul. They were the one thing the Wizarding World could never alter, with all the magic available to them, the eyes are never able to be modified by magic. It's why Harry could never ditch his glasses, or why Mad-Eye had to wear a magical eye. If the eye was physically damaged, there would be no healing available to fix it. Hermione pondered, watching the storm brewing in the dangerous red eyes in front of her, if he were to perform extraordinary light magic, would the eyes change? She tucked in that mental note for later research. A chuckle startled her out of her musings.

"You just challenged the most powerful Sorcerer in the world, and you are mentally compiling theories to research at a later date."

"I have a lot on my mind." She replied, feeling the magic in the room lessen considerably with the resumption of their casual chatting. Voldemort pulled himself away from her, still sitting on the side of her bed while she propped herself against the pillows, the throw blanket providing cover to her more private areas.

"Seeing as we are to be wed," She replied, blushing slightly at the thought. His magic had calmed now, maintaining the form of a serpent lying lazily on the upper post of her bed. "I feel that it's important we somewhat know what our boundaries are and at least know one another." His face was impassive, with tints of amusement lingering in the air.

She huffed. "Wanting to know about one's future spouse is not a Gryffindor tendency! I have absolutely no patience waiting to try and figure out your boundaries by trial and error. If bumbling around or being sneaky in one's martial affairs is commonplace with your Death Eaters, it is certainly not going to work for me."

He said nothing, just watched with the same face.

She pointed her finger at him. "Don't give me that look, especially seeing as you have apparently regained some human tendencies again like desiring something other than power, I would think I have a right to know the person whom I will be sleeping with."

He stared again.

She stared back.

"Are you done?"

She let out a huff at him, her caramel eyes narrowing.

He smirked at her, twirling his wand slowly in his hands nonchalantly while leaning against the rear part of her four-poster. "I have few boundaries," he began, amused at her shocked face. "Most of which I have already clarified prior to this conversation.

"I wish not to be disrespected in front of my Death Eaters, let alone anyone else. Our private affairs are our own and I can only assume you expect the same. My favorite candy is toffee." He smirked at her raised eyebrow. "I _am_ human, after all. I do have likes and dislikes."

Hermione made a mental note: Dark Lords like coffee and toffee.

The room _reeked_ of the caffeinated beverage.

But it seemed the Dark Lord wasn't done.

"I also expect that anything that is discussed between the two of us be kept secret. Obviously, that is covered in the contract, but I am not stupid, and neither are you. If you truly wanted to, you could get around the terms and so could I. We have a system of mutual respect in this regard. However," He looked at her with a piercing stare. "I am still the Dark Lord of this world. If I am ordering you to do something, it is not for some absurd power play or idiotic posturing. It is because there may be something going on that you do not know. When this happens, _do not disobey._ " He ended the sentence with a hiss, the room darkening slightly. Hermione shivered. While maintaining the casualty with the current ruler of Wizarding Britain and the most powerful wizard in the world was delightful, sometimes it was easy to forget. The last time she had seen Voldemort in such a setting was when her magic was going haywire. She nodded slowly.

But when would there be a time when _the Dark Lord_ would have to put on a show?

Some things, she reasoned, would need to be found later when she had the power to back it up with her research. Then she sighed, adjusting her pillows to lay flat while she gazed up at the ceiling, the fireplace creating flickering shadows as she finally reflected her life.

Harry and Dumbledore had been killed her 6th year. She had managed to get through her 7th still at the top of her class, though whether she did so because she worked herself to death through her grief or because everyone else was getting pulled out by their families, she didn't know. She was currently lying in a bedroom nonchalantly talking about having sex and martial boundaries with a man who had stood for everything she hadn't. She hadn't even been here that long, and she had already cursed a man out a window, slaughtered another, and ran through the forest _naked_. Stretching her hand over her face, looking at the glowing rune on the back of it, she swallowed the bile growing in the back of her throat; even her _hands_ weren't the same. She pulled the black throw around herself, sliding her feet to the floor, stumbling slightly: her legs were still recovering. She felt his presence from behind her, but she shook her head.

The next thing she knew, she was staring at herself, the vanity mirror vast and revealing. Her hair was wild with its' curls; tamed, but still a mess from her recent stint in the forest. The reflection watched her warily as she conducted her observations: the smoother face, the lack of bags from under her eyes, the slight red that flickered across her irises-

A pale hand placed itself over her a mouth as a choked gasp wrangled itself from her chest, her sight growing blurry. She turned and pushed him back slightly, ignoring his irritated look.

" _Look at me!"_ She yelled at him. "What have you _done_?!"

Voldemort said nothing, his eyes still narrowed in irritation.

"I don't even look like myself anymore." She began wringing her fingers through her hair trying to remember a time where she'd find quills, hoping that when she pulled her hands away, there'd be smudges of ink on the tips of her fingers.

"When was the last time I did any research? Or how is it I've become so compliant to some of the things I know you and I have fundamentally disagreed upon? Why haven't I checked up on my remaining friends, or…or…or…" Her eyes turned at him in frustration, widening when she took the look on his face.

"What did you _do._ "

" _I_ did nothing, per say." If there was ever a time where Voldemort could be possibly indicative of any kind of guilt, Hermione could dare say it was now. His face seemed more focus, observing her outbursts with almost a sense of caution.

"But you think there _is_ something wrong." She challenged at him, still clinging the black throw to herself.

"It is a possibility I am still exploring."

Men bloody _infuriated_ her. "What. Possibility."

He rolled his eyes at her dramatics, gesturing to the two comfortable looking chairs by the fireplace. They sat, her at the edge of the chair in impatient agitation, as he reclined, still attentive to the conversation.

"I first noticed the difference when you became so attuned to Bellatrix." He began. "A woman who had hunted you, had fought you in the Department of Mysteries, _crucio'd_ you, yet somehow, you were comfortable enough to let her be your teacher. The fact that you have not completely harassed me about elvish welfare should have been the first tip, but alas, I had originally assumed that you were adjusting to the new situation and would eventually get on my case.

"The runes I used upon your hand and chest were…experimental." He hedged, ignoring the narrowing of her eyes. "I had used them because there was no time to research an alternative. Never has a witch so powerful had her magic suppressed for such a long time, especially beginning at childhood. Your case is extraordinarily unique. Linking your magic using the _Eiwhaz_ rune to my own as a method to heal and balance your wild magic had unknown risks, unknown side effects."

Hermione furrowed her brow. "I haven't felt my magic differ, it feels the same, just larger in capacity." But Voldemort was already shaking his head.

"You even noticed yourself that the variances did not lie with your magic, but with your mentality, your own personality. Almost wild and sporadic, you find yourself doing things and accepting things that ordinarily would not have been acceptable to you. I…" He hesitated. Voldemort _hesitated_. Hermione looked nervous.

"I have a theory. And it is becoming more apparent every day.

"I believe that my horcruxes and the detrimental effects, including the vast differences in the types of magics you and I have dabbled in, are filtering through to you."

She said nothing, the crackling of the fire being the only distinguishable noise in the room while she digested what he was saying. "So…" She said slowly, a finger twirling a curl from her hair slowly as her mind turned and absorbed what he had said. "The…insanity. From both your horcruxes and your use of dark magic is…inside me now?" Dread. Pure dread.

Voldemort paused, his eyes focused on the small woman in front of him. "Yes." He said finally, his definitive answer washing over her psyche. "It is a strong possibility. Your observation of how our magic balances each other was my deciding factor. Your magic is accepting the detrimental effects so long as we are connected in return for it not destroying your body. What you are experiencing, I am as well."

Hermione paused. "So are you unable to pursue things you once believed or did regularly as well?" She demanded, looking up at him with thinly veiled hysteria in her eyes.

Voldemort looked thoughtful. "Unfortunately, regardless for how much you tout gender equality, it may very well be that you are reacting to these effects worse than I because you are female, the way your mind works is different, and your magic is more attuned to your emotions than an average male. I can only hypothesize that, because you have an enormous excess of magic and your magic naturally reacts to your emotions, that the detrimental effects affect your mind more than it does mine, even at equal dosage levels. If you had ever made a horcrux, you would only be able to handle two, maybe three with practice."

"Then can't we take the runes off now?" She asked, her voice pleading. "You said it yourself, my magical core has expanded appropriately to accommodate my lost magic, so there is no need for these runes anymore." Voldemort shook his head at her again, his magic attempting to wrap itself around her to prevent her current, ongoing anxiety.

"You've not yet learned to control the magic, and with the addition of your elements, it would be dangerous if you don't learn to keep it in your core as a stable entity."

"Will there be any permanent damage?"

"I would think not." He said after a moment of thought. "Our magic is able to distinguish themselves apart. It is safe to assume that there would be no taint from the horcruxes or dark magic from my own magic onto yours after the runes are removed."

Hermione's shoulders slumped in relief as Voldemort stood. Lifting her chin up so that their gazes met, his magic unwrapped itself from her and resumed its' dance above them.

"We will speed up your control training to prevent any additional negative side effects." She relaxed, until he smirked.

"If you are going crazy, I would much rather it be my skill as the reason, not our shared magic."

* * *

 **A/N: This is a shorter chapter than usual; I am so so sorry to everyone who waited for this chapter to come out! I graduated from University, I moved to a different city in the state I live in, and I hit an enormous writer's block. Also, had a conniption when I saw a bunch of typos in my fiction in the earlier chapters. Eventually I will go back and fix it. I cannot give you a timeline on when Chapter 14 is coming out, but I do have more free time right now, so hopefully sooner rather than later!**


	14. Chapter 14

After much consideration and reflection, I have retracted my former statement and have, instead, declared that His Equal be under temporary Hiatus until I find the motivation and remove writer's block regarding it to correct and fix its issues that I have with it. I apologize if some thought I implied their reviews were not sufficient, and most of that chapter was posted in response to a cluster of flames from frequent reviewers that left me hurt and quite disheartened. I apologize for taking out my frustration and hurt on you guys. I really do appreciate your reviews.

I have a poll on my profile for you guys to help me decide which other fiction to start on until I find my plot for His Equal again, and would appreciate if you guys would vote in it. The description for these plots are on my profile page.

Thank you,

LadyKitKat


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